This Is For Real
by bazzer
Summary: AU Santana Lopez is fine with helping her new roommate cheat on her girlfriend back home because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and, to be honest, she's just a little bored. Until she meets said girlfriend, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt
1. In Which We Meet the Players

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is.

Pairings: Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

First multi-chapter Glee fic. Let's see how it works out.

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><p>"Yeah, so I'll text you when my class gets out and we'll meet for lunch." A pause and a grin. "I had fun tonight too." The almost raspy voice comes out a little breathier. "No, I can't wait for tomorrow either." The smile has to be controlled to conceal the blush. "You too."<p>

Santana doesn't care. Like, honest to God, couldn't give a flying fuck about whatever is currently pouring from her roommate's mouth and trailing like sex along the airwaves to God knows where. Seriously. But her mother had pretty much had a conniption fit when she found out how little the Latina girl knew about her roommate even after four weeks of living together. Apparently random freshmen room assignments were the first sign of Universe aligning and if Santana and the blonde didn't become best friends by the end of the semester the world was going to end.

Other than the fact that her voice set Santana's teeth on edge, or that the sugary quality of her smile could give the Latina an ulcer the darker girl could probably list what she knew of the lighter on one hand. Like, for one, she was blonde. She was a political science major with aspirations of law school, two. She was from some backwoods hick town in Northwest Ohio, three.

"Night, babe." The blonde in question watched the screen of her phone until the call ended and her golden-green eyes hazed over.

Her name was Quinn Fabray, four.

And she was so in her head that she startled when Santana spoke out in an awkward attempt to follow her mother's advice and start some sort of conversation. "That the girlfriend?"

Oh yeah, she was as queer as a three dollar bill.

Five.

See? One hand.

"What?" Quinn almost dropped her phone at the question and Santana would be laughing at her wide-eyed-deer-in-the-headlights look if she weren't so busy mentally kicking herself.

She fought the urge to turn back to the open math book on her desk and pretend like nothing had been said because asking about the _girlfriend_ was crossing a line she never even wanted to approach. But it was out there and Santana Isabel Mother Effin' Lopez never backed down from something she started.

Weakly, she gestured to the phone in the other girl's hand with her pencil. "The girlfriend?" she repeated, biting off a smile that probably looked like a grimace.

It wasn't the thought of two girls dating, hell, it wasn't even the fact that she was rooming and therefore somewhat forced to sleep in the same room as a chick that dug other chicks, that bothered her. She was totally supportive or whatever, and _no_, she didn't bat for that particular team but to each their own. Right? It wasn't like it effected her anyway, so long as the other girl kept her hands to herself that was.

Santana wasn't above cutting a bitch for getting handsy. But that applied to both genders.

"Oh!" Quinn looked down at the device in her hand like she hadn't realized it was there until that moment. "No, that was…" she frowned and narrowed her eyes as she looked up to catch her roommate's eye. "You know, it's really not any of your business who that was."

Aaand there it was. Santana felt her proverbial hackles rise and she was sharply reminded of _why _it had been four weeks without any roommate 'bonding'.

Quinn Fabray was a Grade A bitch.

Not that Santana was all that innocent, per say. She was actually pretty far from it in fact, as her own title of HBIC had gone undisputed for the entirety of her high school career. But if she had learned anything in those years it was that you couldn't place two Alphas together without expecting some sort of throw down. She would have set it up herself, get the bloodshed out of the way so to speak, if her father's checkbook wasn't footing the whole of the college bill and he hadn't threatened to stop the gravy train completely should she get into any sort of trouble.

"Whatever," the darker girl finally muttered and turned back to her homework, wondering if homicidal inclinations were grounds enough for dorm reassignment or if actual blood had to be drawn first.

The opening to Britney Spears' _You Drive Me Crazy _burst forth from the recently disengaged phone and Quinn fumbled to answer before the song got too far along. It was a ringtone Santana had become used to over the last month as was the "Hey, baby" cooed into the mouth piece whenever it cut off. The voice was the same, but the tone was completely different from before, making the Latina pause from her work. "Sorry I couldn't talk earlier, I was…" The Latina glanced up when the blonde stood abruptly only to fleetingly catch the look on her face before Quinn swiftly walked out of the common area and into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

She smirked and ducked back down, tapping contentedly away at her calculator. Quinn could hide behind all the snark and saccharine smiles she wanted but that particular brand of guilt could only mean one thing.

Quinn Fabray was a _cheater. _

What do you know? Santana thought, now I have to use both hands.

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><p>Thoughts?<p> 


	2. In Which A Choice Is Made

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

Ha, really wasn't expecting that kind of response but damn, I love it. I hope this lives up to the expectations everyone has for it. This would have been out sooner but life kind of got in the way and even though I could have posted it yesterday, but roommate offered to buy me shots and, well, I like shots. Yummy, yummy pop rocks shots. Unless you're underage and then: no, drinking is not good for you! A public service announcement from yours truly.

Hey I forgot the disclaimer last time! Which might have confused a couple of people, like 'wait, _does_ she own the rights to Glee?' But, alas, I do not. Sadface, I know, but what can you do?

Hope you enjoy.

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><p>It was a Wednesday night, little more than a week after Santana's discovery of her roommate's adulterous double life, when Santana found herself in one of those precarious situations that marks a tipping point in someone's life. She hadn't realized it at the time of course, no one ever does, but it was the point she would look back on months later and realize that she had indeed made a choice.<p>

In that time things hadn't warmed up between the two girls, in fact Santana was willing to call their interactions both incredibly infrequent and downright frosty. If she cared to (and she didn't) she could probably recall all of the seventeen words that had passed between the two of them since that night.

It didn't bother her as much as her mother seemed to think it should, however, as she was used to being mostly on her own. As the only child of medical professionals, Santana had been raised with a healthy sense of independence to where she never really needed the connection of people her own age. Legitimate friends were a commodity that wasn't easily available to her growing up on the Upper East Side and although her parents doted on her like a princess, they weren't exactly steadily available. In addition, the private schools she attended for more than a decade and as smokin' hot as she was only served to reinforce the knowledge that girls were back-stabbing bitches and boys were only after one thing. Armed with that knowledge and her own penchant for manipulation, Santana made her way through her first eighteen years with hanger-ons and minions but no _true _friends to speak of.

People were only ever going to let you down and there was no one in the world you can trust with all your secrets but yourself. So her and Quinn Fabray not being BFFs? Yeah, not something she was going to lose sleep over.

But that night, while Santana was flipping through her assignment for English and dying for Friday when she could stop with the coursework for a bit, the blonde changed the game.

Her phone was practically glued to the side of her face once more and she was working on placating the girl, _Drive Me Crazy _girl not _Don't Rain on My Parade_ girl, and it didn't sound like it was working all that well. "No, baby, it's not that I don't _want _to be there… Please don't put words in my mouth, B, I just already have plans." She sighed heavily at whatever was being said and pinched at the bridge of her nose. Santana leveled a glare at the back of her head, willing her to take the conversation out of the study room and to some place more appropriate, like anywhere that she wasn't, but apparently her telepathy was a little off. Quinn swiveled her chair around, seemingly unable to look at work she wasn't getting done and the Latina quickly averted he dark look. No need to poke a fuckin' dragon when it was already spitting fire

"Because," the blonde hesitated and looked around, grasping at straws for an excuse, "it would be rude to cancel plans on such short notice." Santana snorted at the semi-desperate tone which had the unfortunate effect of drawing the other girl's attention to her. Quinn's golden-green eyes narrowed in thought and then lit up. "My roommate," she cut into whatever was being said to her, "I'm hanging out with my roommate."

Santana glanced up from _Beowulf _with an incredulous look. She figured that because she'd just been brought into the conversation she now had the right to comment so with a raised an eyebrow she asked, "Excuse me?"

The blonde leveled a glare in her direction while wacing her off with a single motion. "I'm just taking your advice, B, and getting to know her. I think you're right, we could be good friends. Yeah." The smile that had been turning rather self-satisfied, stopped suddenly and Santana rolled her eyes, grumbling as she found her place once more.

"What? No, she's, uh, she's studying right now, B, and I don't think she would… B, I'm not putting her on the phone. Why would you even want-" She looked up once more to find the darker girl watching her half-interestedly, and clenched her jaw. She closed her eyes and looked like she was mentally counting backwards from ten before raising a hand to rub her forehead with the base of her palm. "Hold on, B."

She lowered the phone and covered the mouthpiece with her other hand, regarded Santana with a frown.

"Look," the blonde's nostrils flared, "Could you talk to my girlfriend and tell her we're hanging out on Saturday?"

Finally cottoning on to what was going on, the Latina controlled her smirk and looked back down at her book feigning apathy. "I don't know," she turned the page even though she wasn't done with it, "My time is precious. I don't think I'm free this weekend."

"Trust me, we won't be hanging out." From the corner of her eye Santana caught the sour expression on the blonde's face. "Just tell her we are."

"Seems a little sketchy." Keeping her head down, the Latina glanced up through her eyelashes, "What's in it for me?"

She wondered how someone could keep smiling with their jaw locked that tight but Quinn pulled it off like a champ. "I'll owe you one," she hissed, voice dripping distain, which was interesting because Santana was pretty sure with that tone her initial offer should have been 'I won't murder you in your sleep.'

She looked back at her book but she had turned so many pages without looking that she couldn't figure out where she had actually left off. She closed the novel without marking her spot and sighed, curling her fingers to indicate Quinn should pass her the phone. To the blonde's credit, she was able to marshal her features into what Santana thought was a good facsimile of a grateful look, if only it weren't for the ice in her eyes.

She was tempted to make the other girl say 'please' before she actually took the phone, but stopped herself when she thought about how often she was willing to bait death in such a short period of time. The device was pressed into her hand with the dry instruction to "Keep it short."

The Latina rolled her eyes heavenward as she took the phone, beneath a backlit photo of what looked like a ballerina in the arabesque position was a timer stating the blonde had spent the last twenty four minutes trying to convince one of her girlfriends that she wasn't a horrible person. And Santana was now going to aid in that charade.

Eh, whatever maintained the peace, right?

"Speak."

There was a pause like the person on the other end of the airwaves wasn't used to such a direct manner of greeting then, just as she was taking a breath to change tactics, a twitter of laughter reached her ear. Santana grinned.

"Oh wow," the voice spoke in soft tones that contained the thinnest remnants of delight, "I didn't know someone could just _sound_ like a straight up bitch."

Now, normally, this is about the time that the Latina would go off because that right there was straight disrespect, except that the girl sounded so damn _impressed_ that she had to laugh at the audacity of the statement. "Speak for yourself, sweetheart," faux-sweet sarcasm clung to the words like a coating as she glanced away from Quinn's questioning look.

The girl giggled again, "You're the roommate, I hope?"

"Depending on who asks I guess. But I usually just go by Santana."

"Santana," she repeated slowly, like she was just tasting the syllables on her tongue for the first time and the dark girl felt a curiously hot sensation on the back of her neck at the sound of it.

"I just said that, didn't I?" From the corner of her eye she caught the way Quinn was watching her with hawk-like intensity and resisted the urge to turn away.

"Yeah," she could practically hear the shrug from across the line, "but Q's only ever called you 'the roommate' so I wanted to make sure. Santana's a super hot name though."

"I," Santana blinked at the almost blasé delivery of the compliment, "Thank you?"

"Welcome!" the girl chirped before her voice grew serious. "So you're the reason I won't see my girlfriend this weekend?"

"Yeah, sorry about that," she swallowed heavily, a cold shudder ripping through her upper body at the lie she was telling. She narrowed her eyes at herself, curious because she'd never had that reaction to lying before. Ever. And she did it all the time.

"S'ok," the feminine tones ripped her back to the matter at hand, "Is Quinn being nice to you?"

"Uh," she looked up at the blonde in question but the girl's attention had been drawn away from her and was now on an open instant messaging conversation on her computer. "Sure, she's been a real peach."

A snort of amusement reached her ears. "Well, that's a lie."

"What?" she frowned as she crossed her arm under the one holding the phone to rest at a more comfortable position.

"Oh, honey," the endearment dropped from her tongue like silk and felt just as good, "I've known Q since we were kids, nice isn't something she does very well or, like, at all if she can help it."

"So if you already knew the answer, why ask me?" Eyes on the back of her roommate's head, Santana tried to picture the blonde as a little girl with crossed chubby arms and a prominent scowl across childish features. It was surprisingly easy. And if the girl she was talking to now knew her for that long it meant she was probably the original girlfriend.

"To see what you would say."

"Like a test?" There was a pause and Santana could see some faceless, non-descript girl shrugging in her mind's eye. She was going to have to ask Quinn for a photo or something to fill in the details. Or a name at the very least. "Did I pass?"

"Why don't you tell me about yourself, Santana the Roommate, and I'll let you know."

_Beowulf_ lay abandoned on the floor as she settled back further into the small common room couch. She made sure to keep Quinn in her peripheral vision but once the blonde slipped head phones over her ears she gave up even that pretense as she tried to think of what to say to the girl on the other end of the line.

!

It was later, after someone else on the other girl's end pointed out the time, that Santana was able to take stock of her situation. Quinn's girlfriend - seriously, she was going to have to ask what the hell her name was- wished her sweet dreams and asked that she extend the farewell to Quinn and hung-up with a cheerful "Night!"

Reclining lengthwise on the common room couch with one arm tucked beneath her head, she looked down at the screen as it lit back up to reveal the timer just tipping passed two hours, but for the life of her she couldn't imagine what she just talked about for so long.

"Have a nice conversation with my girlfriend?" Her voice was just as sharp as Santana was used to hearing when it was directed at her, but there was a softening in her eyes as she took back her phone that was probably brought on by the dazed look on the Latina's face.

"I, yeah," she rubbed her hand across her forehead and sat up to find a clock to confirm the time. "She just kind of keeps you going, you know?"

"That's Brittany for you," Quinn flicked her thumb across the screen of her phone and stared down at it, but whatever she was looking at she kept to herself. Santana nodded slightly and grinned. _Brittany_, yeah that totally fit. "Give her half a day and she'll have you spilling your whole life story."

The fond smile on Quinn's face flickered with guilt as she touched the phone once more and set it face down on the desk. Next to it, the laptop with a still open message window on the screen was blinking to indicate a new response.

Still reeling from the conversation with the girlfriend- Brittany, she mentally reminded herself- Santana felt the need to say something to return the room to it's normal icy equilibrium, of only because she knew her own footing there. Twisting to retrieve her long-forgotten coursework she pointedly avoided looking at the blonde in the room, "What about your other girlfriend? What's she like?"

Quinn dropped her jaw, bright denial on the tip of her tongue before the darker girl's words registered completely. She closed her mouth with a snap and blinked. Scenario after scenario ran through her mind but there wasn't enough information to figure out what angle her roommate was working. "It's not-"

"-Any of my damn business, I know." She waved a dismissive hand without pulling her attention away from the book in the other one. "You've used that one before. Look, I'm just fucking with you, if I actually cared I would have said something to your girl on the phone. But I didn't, so whatever."

There was more to it than that, Quinn knew there had to be. "But why not? Why would you spend an hour and a half talking to Brittany if you knew I was using it so that I could talk to another girl?"

"Fabray, it's ten on a Wednesday night and I've been reading this fucking book since Monday. I would have taken _any _excuse to waste an hour and a half. I was bored. That's fucking all." Despite the heat of her vernacular there was a cool nonchalance in everything else that made it feel like she was telling the truth. But the blonde's mind didn't stop processing, it never did, it was something that had always fascinated Brittany. Quinn had spent the better part of her life scheming and planning and assessing and she wasn't about to stop now.

"What _is_ in it for you?" she asked finally, quietly reaching behind her to half shut the face of her computer without even looking at the blinking message that was waiting for her.

Santana sighed in an overly annoyed fashion and slammed the pages of her book shut with as much force as one can muster on a paperback copy. "Not being a lesbian," the Latina started and Quinn had to repress a rather unladylike snort, because she knew that tone of harsh recitation intimately. "I can't begin to imagine the stress of dating another chick because, let's face it, girls are bitches and that much estrogen in a relationship would make me strangle someone. But dating two of 'em? You're out of your mother loving mind. So, what I got out of it was self-preservation because the less insane you are, the less likely you are to murder me in my sleep because you can't convert me to you Sapphic harem."

She punctuated the end of her tirade by standing solidly and flipping her dark locks over one shoulder, as if to show Quinn exactly what she would never have. But the blonde was too busy calculating in her mind, eyes reflecting like ice to even appreciate the vision. Behind her the laptop _ding-ding!_-ed to indicate a new message and the blonde faltered, twisting back to it and shutting the electronic all the way.

Satisfied that she had all the information she was going to get for the evening, Quinn nodded once and murmured, "Thank you for not telling Britt."

"Whatever," Santana shifted, suddenly uncomfortable, "I was bored, s'all. Just, you know, remember to keep your hands to yourself and we won't have any problems."

"Don't worry," Quinn smiled to show her perfect pearly whites, "You're really not my type."

The Latina wanted to laugh, because fuck all she was hot and that made her everyone's type, but instead she just flipped off the other girl and made her way out of the common room, _Beowulf_ tucked under one arm but otherwise forgotten once more. As she got ready for bed, she thought about Brittany's parting wishes to herself and the blonde, but when she poked her head out Quinn was already back on the computer, clicking away what she was sure was another apology. Used to her own good-natured moods lasting for rather short periods of time, she wasn't surprised when she closed the door instead and kept that piece of the night to herself.

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><p><strong>your. kat<strong> no pressure, right? :P

**Chocolataulait** aha, don't worry I'll keep the lawyers out of it, plus I'm pretty much the last person who will judge your lesbian-ness. Don't worry though, I'm not much of a Faberry shipper, rather I'm not much of a Rachel fan, so it'll be only when necessary. Brittana is the main couple here. Thanks for giving it a shot though. :)

**Caldecottlilrat** like a boss! sorry, I just like that phrase. I'm the same way, no worries. Thanks for giving it a chance :)

**MaxximumRide666**. sorry I'll try and be better about it. Glad you liked it, and I'm just trying to switch things up a bit. Hopefully I can pull it off.

**L **done

**breathe4her** …. I'm sorry, I've just been reading your stuff for like three years and I just adore your writing. Thank you :D

**Cassicio** I had a legitimately smart-ass reply for you, but I thought I should be nice considering you were so kind as to review my work. I will say, however, that I agree, it is crazy ;)

**musiqnilla18, mekux85, Jo, wkgreen, h-bomb, The King Cobra, steepe, Bill **thank you! I hope you still like it!


	3. In Which a Dynamic Is Set

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Glee or its characters.

My apologies for the time it took and the shortness of this chapter, but my family is dealing with some major hits and I've been largely away from my computer. Things are looking better and I should be better about it now.

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><p>If there was any downside at all in her apathy towards her roommate's cheating, it was that once Santana had acted as a distraction the first time Quinn was more than willing to let her do it again and again. Not that talking to the girl's <em>still<em> faceless girlfriend was in any way an inconvenience, in fact it was something she was starting to look forward to, or that it took her away from her coursework, it was more that Santana just wasn't the sort of person that bent to the will of others and this felt a lot like doing the other girl's bidding. So, after a couple of weeks and several conversations to cover her roommate chatting up another girl, the Latina decided to do as she always had whenever the chips stopped falling in her favor.

She quit playing.

The problem with being as impulsive as she was, and this would eventually prove to be a pattern she couldn't ignore, was that she was unable to fully comprehend what not helping the blonde meant. What it boiled down to was that by not talking to Brittany for Quinn she wasn't able to talk to Brittany. And honestly? She _liked_ talking to Brittany.

For all the problems she and Quinn had with communication or even the general manner with which they coexisted in the world, she found it that much simpler with the blonde's girlfriend. Every conversation they had over Quinn's phone flowed into the next without getting stale and the other girl never seemed to mind when the Latina dominated an exchange, or if the only thing they really talked about was Santana herself. She remembered the most random things, and asked about Santana's classes and if she was getting along with people and eating well and if Quinn was being nice to her. She was funny with the most off-the-wall commentary on the Latina's life that sometimes the dark girl would be so taken by surprise that she would lose tract entirely but it never felt intentional or forced so she never minded. Brittany was nice and bright and always seemed happy and if there was ever anyone in the world that Santana thought she had the potential to be friends with, it was that girl.

Too bad she was dating Quinn Fabray. And the entire point of talking to her was so that said girlfriend could go behind her back.

It was like her mother always said, the devil was in the details.

But as forethought was not her specialty, and at this point her desire to stop appearing compliant was far greater than any she had for another fair-weather friend, the next time the blonde offered Santana the phone (computer flashing with a new message behind her) the darker girl just brushed her off with the excuse that she was 'too busy to play bait and switch' and nary even a glance up. Satisfied with her tone of indifference she popped in the earbuds for her iPod and continued seamlessly with her open homework. Her sense of satisfaction, however, was severely dampened when she realized her first glaring mistake.

Quinn had been cheating just fine before the darker girl had involved herself and she didn't actually _need_ the Latina to proceed with it. So Santana's refusal didn't jam her up nearly as much as she'd hoped and whatever reaction she thought she would get, Quinn total disinterest wasn't it. Her impulsivity was in good company with her stubbornness, though, so she maintained her position of relaxed non-cooperation.

After the third lame excuse the blonde just stopped offering her the phone, instead choosing to response to the girl on the other end of the line, in a surprisingly soft tone, "No, babe, she can't talk right now." It was often followed by a harsher, "I don't know, B, maybe she's just a bitch" and then a penitent "of course not, hun."

Far from satisfaction, what Santana ended up experiencing was a curiously hollow feeling in the pit of her chest and a sharp prickling at the back of her eyes. That was about the time she realized what she had done was probably the social equivalent to shooting herself in the foot because not only had she played what little she'd been dealt _way _too fucking soon, in the process she'd also written off the one person she could stand talking to for any length of time.

Perhaps it was just as well, Santana rationalized, as she had never felt she was meant to be anyone's friend and someone as shiny as Quinn's Brittany would probably flake anyway. Eventually everyone did.

All of this added up to howshe found herself in the dorm at seven o'clock on a Friday night, alone, laying on her back on the carpet in the middle of the room, scrolling through the contact list as she stared up at her phone. It was filled with numbers of vapid girls that would hang on her ever word without hearing one and unfortunately confident boys that would promise anything for a peak under her skirt. The problem was she didn't _want_ to talk to any of them so she closed the list, opened the Angry Birds application and played until there was knock on the door.

Curious, because Quinn would just come in and neither one ever really invited anyone there, she rolled to her feet and straightened her clothes. She recognized the offensive amount of cologne before the door was fully open but did it anyway just to confirm. On the other side of the door, holding a large pizza box in one hand and a case of Natty Lite in the other with a smarmy grin under mo-hawked hair, was one of the last people she wanted to see that night.

"No," she deadpanned, "I don't care what it is. No." She flicked her wrist to shut the door, but with the rattle of bottles the boy stopped it before it closed completely.

"Come on, Lopez," he shouldered his way into the room without meeting any more resistance, if he ignored the dark look he was receiving from the girl that was. He didn't take it personally, he never did, as she'd had that same scowl on her face ever since he'd met her. He smirked to disarm her despite that fact that it never did, "You know you missed me."

"Better be good," she grumbled and crossed her arms, glaring at him as he set down the food and beer and pulled out a hard case with Mario on the cover from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "You have got to be joking," she rolled her eyes upward and turned away to open the cover to the pizza. Hawaiian. It would do.

Across the small room the boy was setting up the game with almost childlike delight and acting nothing like the overconfident and smooth talking man she had thought he'd been. She had met Noah Puckerman her senior year at a club they had both been too young to be in, but somehow always found themselves in. Their hook-up had been a drunken one time thing that happened a dozen or so more times over the next three month and when Santana got bored and broke it off, he just never left.

When the opening music started to blast from the speakers of the television, he came back to her and shoved a cold bottle into the hand that wasn't currently cradling a slice of pizza, grinning roguishly, "Nothing good happens until late and you know it. Pre-game now, and we'll get our party hardy on later. Crash a frat party or some shit like that. Chill?"

She narrowed her eyes but twisted the cap off anyways, "If I'm not properly fucked up by midnight, we're never speaking again."

!

"Just pop the damn bubble!"

"Stop falling down the fucking holes and I wouldn't have to pop any of your damn bubbles!"

"Quit jumping on my god damn head and-!"

Santana muttered darkly under her breath in Spanish as she tuned him out, but she jumped off a wall to release the mo-hawked teen's character from its death bubble without another understandable word aloud. What she wanted to do, more than just about anything in that moment, was bounce the controller off of his stupidedly styled head but he was the closest thing she had to a legitimate connection and apparently concussions were bad.

Taking her lack of response to mean he could open another topic he leant over to nudge her with his shoulder, "So where's your hot ass roommate?"

She nudged back harder, but didn't take her eyes off the screen. "Don't touch me and how the hell should I know?"

"Still not close, I take it," he chuckled, but took the hint and tipped back out of her space.

She did throw the controller at him then, but most of her strength was out of it because in her mind she could hear Brittany asking if Quinn was being nice to her, and never the other way around like everyone else did. "What is it with people thinking that just because we live together means when need to be fucking soul sisters or something?"

He shrugged non-helpfully and took a sip from his open drink, watching from the corner of his eye as Santana glared weakly at her roommate's desk. He was no connoisseur when it came to the intricate details of the feminine mind (he was much more a base desires kind of guy) but give him a wine cooler and an hour and he could puzzle it out for the most part. But Santana Lopez? She confused the hell out of him sometimes. Most times. Okay, pretty much all the fucking time.

He was cut from what would pass as musings when said 'hot ass roommate' bustled through the unlocked door in a whirl of blonde hair and half out of her jacket. She ignored the two already in the room like they were pieces of the decor and kept her phone pressed against her ear. "Yeah, I just need to change real fast and I'll meet you there. Of course, B," she sounded somewhat exasperated but spoke through was looked like a genuine smile. Santana pursed her lips and resolutely turned back to the television.

"Hey, hot mama," Puck rumbled at the lighter girl, waggling his eyebrows and shifting she the was better put on display.

She hesitated, though it could have been a flinch, but didn't even look up. "Still gay," she waved at herself instead before flipping up the middle finger of her free hand in his general direction. "Still an asshole."

"Don't play a playa, sweetness, you know you want this." She leveled a glare at him just bedroom door slammed shut and Puck barked out a laugh, "Breakin' my heart, Fabray!" Santana shot him a disgusted look that took him by surprise. "What?" he asked weakly and had the nerve to look mildly affronted. "All the ladies wants this," he gestured to his lower half and she could only roll her eyes and click to begin the next level to stop herself from physically harming him.

A few minutes later the bedroom door opened again, but by that time Puck was sufficiently distracted by the game and Santana was still very much in the not mood to deal with the other girl so it took her a few moments to recognize that Quinn had not immediately left the dorm altogether and was instead standing quietly behind her.

"I know I'm hot, Fabray, but I think we've already established that it ain't gonna happen so could you take your creepy staring and focus it on whichever girl you've convinced to sleep with you tonight."

The sharp toe of the blonde's high-heeled boot connected painfully with the middle of her back and just as she whirled to a standing position so she could release an almighty hurt upon the girl she noticed the wide-eyes glare and the hand covering the mouth piece on the phone. Visible above her fingers was the poised ballerina that Santana knew meant Brittany was on the other opened end. She blinked. "Fuck."

Puck glanced up to see what the commotion was about but even he could sense the static between the girls and chose, wisely, to stay out of it.

Quinn raised the phone to her ear and waited a few seconds before her shoulders dropped marginally in relief but her eyes were back to their normal ice cold glare. For a brief moment it looked like she was struggling with something, but then she clenched the muscles in her neck and spoke in quiet, steady tones. "Brittany is freaked out that she's done or said something to offend you and that's why you aren't talking to her any more. Is that the case?" Santana shook her head to the negative and the blonde continued on. "She's a good person and for whatever reason she's decided she wants to be your friend and I'll allow it. For now. But if you tell her, I will end you. Do you understand?"

The Latina nodded once, stiffly, but it was more than just in agreement to what Quinn had just said and both of them knew it. She was recognizing the shift in the dynamic between them. Quinn had established herself as the alpha, and Santana confirmed it. Without bloodshed. Unless her back was bleeding from where the blonde had kicked her because, _fuck_, that had hurt.

Chatter erupted across the line as Brittany apparently came back from wherever she had been and continued the conversation like it hadn't left off. "Yeah, B, I'm leaving now. I asked," Quinn backed away slowly keeping her eyes on Santana until she reached the door and then let them flicker to Puck and back. "No, she has plans with her boyfriend tonight."

"He's not my-" but the door had already clicked shut.

The blood rushing in her ears was either from rage or embarrassment, but what was caused it didn't matter as it was enough to drown out the music from the video game.

"Damn," Puck whistled in admiration. "I can see what you mean, Lopez. That chick's a stone-cold bitch." She looked down at the boy who still sat cross-legged on the floor, but was twisted around to watch the door Quinn had just exited through. "All that sexual tension, though, heh, It's kind of fuckin' hot," he waggled his eyebrows once more and Santana finally felt satisfaction when the _slap!_ of her hand against the back of his head resonated around the room.

!

Quinn paid the fare and exited the taxi less than half a block from the coffee shop where she was supposed to meet Brittany but she wasn't even completely balanced on the sidewalk when she felt lithe arms around her middle, warm lips against her temple and the hum of a familiar tune in her ear. Like someone had spoken the magic word, the tension coiled between her shoulder blades melted and her jaw unclenched.

"You're grinding your teeth, Quinn. What's wrong?" vibrated against her cheek and sent a shiver down her spine but it felt so damn much like _home _over the hum of the city that she couldn't bring herself to speak aloud. Instead she just shook her head and shifted so that she could look up into bright blue eyes that were currently clouded in worry. "Talk to me," Brittany requested, tipping her head until her forehead lightly grazed Quinn's.

"It's nothing, B. I just," her eyelids fluttered, "I just miss you." The darker blonde grinned swiftly and pushed up on her toes to press a kiss against Brittany's lips. It was quick, fleeting and chaste, but when she pulled back blue eyes were bright once more and Quinn knew Brittany would not push her, for the moment at least.

The taller girl hummed once more and loosened her hold, slipping forward down the sidewalk she held out her hand for Quinn to take. Golden-green met deep blue and for a moment the smaller girl swore the other's perpetual smile faltered and her innate fluidity was hesitant. She twitched her fingers, "I'm still here, Q."

"I know," Quinn raised her own hand to grab the offered one and twine their fingers together, she was confused by the statement though she did not give it much thought. Sometimes it took a while, but the things Brittany said very nearly always made sense in the end. After a second she felt a tug and with a grin she let herself be pulled along farther down the road.

* * *

><p><strong>MaxximumRide666<strong>: oh good, it happens to other people too! lol. I was afraid people would read that and be like 'okay, how does she _not_ know her _name_...?' Thanks so much!

**Cassicio**: I guess I'm just going to have to step up my bantering skills now. Thank you for the review!

**Melux85, brokenlogic**: no worries, I'm a Quitt fan too! I'll try and do all pairings proper justice... eventually ;)

**h-bomb**: oh my -fans self with hand- well aren't you just the sweetest? lol Now let's get down to brass tacks: what _flavor_ is this ring pop?

**The Cobra King**: what? crazy? in _this_ story? lol

**caldecottlilrat**: yay! you've made me very happy :D

**northleftsouth**: hopefully I can reach that potential. thanks for the review

**BrittanaFTW**: lol, good to hear. and wait, what? aha. thanks for the review

**kat**: you said no pressure! but thank you for the _gentle_ reminder to get back to business. hope you enjoyed it.

**asdf**, **musiqnilla18**, **you-smell-terrific**, **lalls, wkgreen, over it**: much appreciated folks! thank you for the reviews and I hope you all continue to enjoy!


	4. In Which We Feel a Little Ill

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi

This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Glee or its characters.

Does any one remember free time? Does anyone still have it? Is it as sweet as I remember it being?

* * *

><p>When Santana next regained consciousness, rather against her will, there was a white-hot pounding behind her eyes, a stiffness in her back and an oppressive rolling sensation in her stomach that made her wish that she was dead. Or that Puck was because even though she couldn't remember most of the pervious night she was pretty certain he was entirely to blame for this feeling. She was stretched out on the tiny two-seat couch in her dorm common room, knees hanging over one arm and her neck bent awkwardly against the opposite one. Staring up at the white stucco ceiling she had the abrupt thought that if she was going to be spending so much time on that damn couch, she should really invest in a nicer piece of furniture. Full length, butter soft black leather would feel amazing right about now.<p>

Moving, on the other hand, did not.

Even the act of wiggling her toes sent shockwaves from the soles of her feet to the top of her head and twisted the walls of her stomach. She let out a groan that paradoxically stopped the buzz of noise currently filtering through the cotton balls that someone must have shoved in her ears, down her throat, and layered over her eyes. Then there was a _click_ that echoed through the jelly her brain had melted into followed by a sigh and finally silence. She twisted herself onto her side and with a Herculean effort violently shoved down the nausea that rose up to meet her.

A thin shaft of light cut through the stuffy darkness of the room highlighting very specific portions of the room. Puckerman was laying on the floor in the middle of the room sans shirt and curled around a bright pink body pillow that she'd never seen before in her life. Standing over him with her arms crossed over her stomach was a blonde that Santana thought to be her roommate, toeing his bare back, as if to determine whether or not he was still breathing. The Latina groaned again and when her vision stopped swimming she was staring down at a garbage can that had been shoved in the space there. Over the lip of the can smooth, pale knees were visible and above them a chuckle that somehow managed to sound condescending filtered through her haze. She moved her hips until she was facedown, legs twisted up at awkward angles. One of her arms was trapped uncomfortably beneath her body, but she'd exhausted whatever energy stores she had so it was going to have to stay there for the moment.

"You look like shit, Lopez."

"Fuck you, Fabray," Santana snarked, or tried to, but because her face was pressed against the fabric of the couch and her mouth was only partially cooperating it came out more like: "hub ew, F'way."

"Classy," Quinn rolled her eyes and when she looked back down the Latina had slumped over, unconscious once more. The blonde felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She didn't know what it was about the other girl that put her so much on edge, but there was _something_ that was setting off alarm bells. Santana Lopez was a threat to the delicate handle Quinn had on the world and it unnerved her. A small part of her thinks it's partially Brittany's fault. Brittany and her unprecedented empathy for strays.

It had started with animals, cats mostly, when they were children. Creatures she would take in off the street, nurse back to health and then give away. And if she couldn't find a place for them, well, Charity and Lord Tubbington had probably never known a better home than the Pierce house. After that she moved onto people, like charity case Cheerios, bottom-of-the-social-ladder glee kids, _Quinn_.

And now she'd taken Quinn's college roommate under her proverbial wing, without ever actually meeting the girl, and it irked her like none other.

Quinn would never claimed to understand the taller blonde and in truth she never made much of an effort to understand her flights of fancy. Brittany thought and acted and reacted in her own, unique way and Quinn was often content to let it go at that, but this? This particular act went against the blonde's every instinct.

She sighed and slipped her fingers through her hair. _She just a girl, Q_, the blonde thought, repeating to herself what Brittany had said at the coffee shop the night before when Quinn had started her tirade about the Latina.

!

"-and does she have to mention the gay thing, like, every time? Seriously, who talks that much about _not_ being gay except homophobic closet cases?" Quinn ranted stonily, chancing a half glance from the corner of her eye are the taller blonde walking by her side. Brittany hummed in response and if it were anyone else Quinn would be concerned that they weren't paying any attention, but the dancer didn't have to be focused to listen and Quinn knew it. She threaded her arm through the space made by Brittany's hand in her coat pocket and laced her own fingers together. "You've talked to her," the shorter girl groused, "What do you think?"

Blue eyes stayed trained on the sidewalk in front of them, daintily avoiding stepping on any cracks in the path, as she shrugged absently. "I think you should be nicer to Santana."

"You're taking her side?" Quinn was incredulous at the implication as well as Brittany's tendency to say her name, like it was something the smaller girl was likely to forget. "You've talked to her, like, twice!"

Brittany shook her head gently and tightened her arm to the side of her body so that the darker blonde couldn't pull her own arm away. "No sides," she murmured distractedly, reaching up to brush her bangs from her eyes. "Whether or not she's going through some sort of gay identity crisis, she's still in a brand new place with brand new people. She needs people on her side just like anyone else. Just like you." Brittany swayed slightly so her shoulder brushed against Quinn's. "And if it _is_ gay panic, then maybe you should be a little more understanding."

She frowned petulantly and cast her gaze down, steadfastly ignoring the blue-eyed stare burning the side of her head. "But she's such a bitch."

The other girl shrugged once more, "You weren't exactly rainbows and sunshine yourself when you were going through it, Q."

Quinn flinched at the lack of inflection in the words. There was no accusation in her voice and if she dared to look at Brittany's face she knew she wouldn't find any there either.

There never was.

!

Her phone buzzed quietly against her hip where it had been tucked into the waistband of her sleep shorts, startling her and bringing her back to the morning, gratefully. She didn't like to think too much on the distance that had grown between her and the other blonde. The phone buzzed once more as a reminder and Quinn flinched again.

"Damn," she murmured, pulling the device out and flicking the pad of her thumb across the screen.

**1 new message: Rachel Berry**

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose, and frowned. So many things coursed through her mind, so many things. She tapped the 'open' icon.

**Coffee this afternoon?**

Quinn blinked down at the bright screen before looking at the stack of books on her desk. A test prep, two study sheets, a psych essay and about forty math problems all needed to be done by Monday. She chewed thoughtfully on the corner of her lip, mentally rearranging her schedule for the rest of the weekend. In front of her Santana snorted in an unladylike manner and muttered unintelligently into the couch. Quinn felt the tension in her shoulder tighten as she spun on her heel, narrowly avoiding burying her foot in the soft underbelly of the boy asleep on her dorm room floor as she tapped out a reply.

The Santana problem could wait for another day, when she actually had the time and brain power to devote to it. As for right now, she had more important matters at hand.

!

The next time Santana opened her eyes there was a steady _click-click-click_ noise in the background that was beating a sharp but bearable beat against the front side of her brain, her mouth tasted like death and the cotton balls that had previously been covering her eyes had apparently disintegrated into fine grains of sand. While the girl wouldn't categorize it as an _improvement_, the reduced feeling of nausea did make her hangover that much more manageable.

She rolled over onto her feet, but fell back sitting when the blood rushed quickly to her lower limbs and set her off balance. She blinked and glanced around the room, which was still cloaked in semi-darkness from the drawn curtains. Quinn was seated at her desk, several open books on the table top and working away like a fiend on her laptop. Which explained the clicking noise that pattered relentlessly against her headache.

There was a list of about a dozen things that would make the Latina feel better, but for the moment coffee was the only thing on that particular list that she had at hand so it was going to have to do. Testing the strength of her legs and satisfied that they would carry her the sort distance to the mini-fridge she hoisted herself up and shuffled to the corner of the room. The little four cup Mr. Coffee wasn't technically dorm-approved, but Santana caffeine addiction wouldn't allow for her first cup to be further away than arms reach and she would just _love_ to see her mousy little slip of an RA try and take it away.

She leant against the top of the mini-fridge that housed her coffee maker and closed her eyes, focusing all her energy inward until the machine beeped. With her hands wrapped around a warming cup of the dark liquid, she finally looked up to find caustically amused eyes on her.

"Morning, sunshine," Quinn smirked, twisting her neck to rest her chin against the palm of her hand and giving her a once over that was entirely condescending.

Santana started to glare but just the movement of her eyebrows was enough to remind her of the headache building behind them so she settled for curling three fingers around the ceramic mug so that she was flipping the other girl off sideways even as she took a sip.

"I hope you don't mind," the blonde gestured outward, "but I kicked your boyfriend out."

The darker girl looked around and noticed for the first time that Puck and his ostentatious pillow were no longer present. Huh, she thought it smelled better in here. She was taking another sip when the words caught up to her and she frowned. "He's not my boyfriend," she mumbled, words stumbling over an uncooperative tongue and across the lip of the mug.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned back to her work, her interest having waned from the first words spoken. Santana watched her back for a moment, trying to dredge up some sort of negative emotion to feed off of but she was too tired and too ill to feel anything more than indifference. Homework on a Saturday afternoon made her stomach turn almost as much as the thought of food did. Or legitimate physical activity. Or sunlight.

She really wanted to bitch to someone right then.

This was where the downsides of not having friends made themselves known. And she couldn't call her mom because she didn't want to have to explain her hangover. Maria Lopez wasn't diluted enough to think that her daughter was completely innocent, but there was no reason to worry the woman unnecessarily. Quinn sure as hell wasn't going to turn gal-pal over night, but there was a connection she could use.

Impulsively she kicked one of the back legs of Quinn chair. "Give me Brittany's number."

"Excuse me?" the blonde raised a signature eyebrow over icy eyes.

Santana blinked, an odd feeling spreading between her shoulder blades but she wasn't in the mood for a battle of wits or a verbal smack down. "Brittany's number. Can I have it?" she spoke slowly, to ensure than her words couldn't be mistaken.

Golden green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"So I can talk to her?" her voice lilted to make the statement sound like a question, but she didn't think the dots were that hard to connect. There was something there, charged in the air between them, but Santana's head swam and she just wanted to curl up away from the judgment in the blonde's eyes. She just wanted to talk to Brittany and she didn't want to think about why. And she sure as hell didn't want Quinn to think about why.

"Look," she rolled her eyes, despite how much it hurt, which told her how much she was dedicated to the action. "Can I have it or not? I just," she rubbed her eyes, "I just want to apologize for not talking to her last week."

The phone on the blonde's desk vibrated violently and the screen lit up to reveal a new text message. She looked down; Rachel again, probably to confirm the time for coffee. The wheels were turning in Quinn Fabray's mind but her shrewdness was being clouded by the ghost of Rachel's breathy giggling in her ear and Brittany's voice, telling her that Santana just needed a friend.

She felt her nostrils flare involuntarily but she swiveled in her chair and scratched out something on a post-it note. "I'm not doing this for you," she clenched the piece of paper and waved it. "Brittany wants to be your friend, and," she blinked and looked down at her hand, "no one really says no to her."

The darker girl didn't really know what to say but she took the post-it and glanced at the ten digits scrawled there. "Thanks," she took a sip of her coffee and turned towards the bedroom, satisfied with the way the day was going so far and completely missing the conflicted look on Quinn's face.

!

Santana slipped off her jeans and shirt from the night before, put on a pair of cotton soffes from her high school cheerleading squad and a tank top. She took another drink and closed the blinds so the room was thrown into darkness. She punched the numbers from the paper and lifted the phone to her ear. It rang three times before there was a click and the voice she'd come to recognize as Brittany drifted along the line. "Hello?"

She sounded breathless and despite the pain in her head and the curious heat on the back of her neck that always seemed to accompany her conversations with the girl, Santana smiled. "Your girlfriend is out of her fucking mind."

The tinkling laughter was like a salve. "Santana?"

"Hmm, how'd you guess?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe my mad deductive reasoning skillz." The dark girl chuckled, settled on the her bed and closed her eyes. "How are you, San?"

She sighed and let the concern in Brittany's voice wash over her. There was no anger from Santana ignoring her, no confusion about how she'd gotten the number or why she was calling without any forewarning. "Hungover," she pouted.

"Aw, poor baby," there was some shuffling on the other end. "Should you lay down or something?"

"I am, plus I slept all morning. Any more and I'll slip into a coma. I guess I just wanted a distraction, unless you're busy," she trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

"Nope," Brittany laughed, "I just finished my run which is pretty much all I had for today."

"Running on a Saturday morning? Gross."

"Hey, now," Santana imagined it being said with a pout, "Don't knock it. It's my favorite part of the weekend."

"Your weekends suck." There was more shuffling. "Are you sure you're not busy?"

"Just changing," the Latina stilled and Brittany laughed. "Anything specific you wanted to talk about?"

She thought about it, she had called to bitch about her night but now that she had a friendly ear and Brittany's voice all she wanted to do was keep listening. "Not really," she fought a grin that no one would ever see. "Why don't you tell me about your week?"

* * *

><p>Thoughts? More Brittany next chapter. Cross my heart.<p>

MaxximumRide666: thanks for the words, man. I'm glad I can continue to please despite some stuff. Puck's awesome, I love reading him and writing is way fun. Just wait, all things come in time, no? ;)

wkgree: waaait for it :)

your. kat: feisty? hmm, curious :P as always, your reviews are very much loved and appreciated .

Cassicio: guilt is such a funny emotion, felt so intensely by some for no reason, and brushed off by others. thanks for the insight :)

teptep: All things in time :) thanks for the review

md09, dogsrock7699, Ryoko05, asdf, Blueskkies, BrittanaFTW, you-smell-terrific, heyalovexo: thanks so muchm dear hearts! 3 you are all making this so very gratifying


	5. In Which the Lord of the Dance Speaks

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi

This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

All I'm saying is no one told me being an adult was going to be this hard. I demand a re-deal. On a side note, does everyone have their Harry Potter tickets yet? I do!

* * *

><p>"She could be an sociopath, Britt, or a klepto. Or a gang-banger, for all you know."<p>

"Q-" Brittany sighed along the line, but the thoughts had already twisted up her mind so much that she slipped on like she hadn't been interrupted.

"Or a frickin' cannibal serial killer that eats her victims!"

"_Quinn!_"

The blonde flinched and looked around, trying to gauge whether or not her bout of unintentional hysteria had been overhead. Thankfully a chill in the air and midterms the following week meant the grassy quad was mostly abandoned in favor of libraries and warm common rooms, so she was in the clear for the moment. "I'm just saying," she mumbled petulantly into the phone, tugging her coat closer with her free hand and glaring at the ground. "What do you _really _know about her?"

"Enough." The other girl's tone was back to it's normal semi-vacant quality so Quinn knew she was very close to being completely over their conversation. Which sucked because she hadn't even properly _begun_ to list her apprehensions about Brittany's newest friend.

"Yeah, and what's enough? _You've _never even actually met her. _I _live with her, don't you think my opinion should matter somewhat in this situation?"

"I do and it does, Quinn. But if you actually thought she was an axe murder you wouldn't still be living with her." She hadn't said axe murdered per say, she thought, but when Brittany was the voice of reason in a conversation she knew there was a serious flaw in her logic. "It's one person's opinion," the dancer continued, "_your_ opinion."

Affronted, Quinn pressed he lips and frowned. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" her girlfriend replied swiftly. A little surprised by the hostility the smaller girl displayed, she verbally back-pedaled to try and explain herself. "Not- not anything _bad_, anyway. It's just that, I don't know, it's like you see the world like it was made of squares or something. All straight lines and sharp edges and maybe the reason you don't like her is because she's, like, a wavy line or a circle or a flicker or just a movement without a form and she just doesn't _fit_ into your perfect, ordered world. Or something."

Quinn blinked and stopped walking, drawing back to look at the blank screen of her phone as if it were Brittany herself. The taller girl sounded perplexed at the best of times and cheerfully ignorant for the rest, but the end of that little tirade was almost bitter. Genuine emotion, negative emotion anyway, was hard to come by and it didn't leak into Brittany's tone often so it's presence here was enough to garner Quinn's full attention. But words to placate whatever had snagged wouldn't form so she settled for a slow release of breath. "I don't- Just tell me what you want me to say, B."

Brittany's voice was pinched and weary and Quinn felt her heart lurch at the depth of it, "I don't want you to say anything, honey. I just wish you'd open your eyes a little more, I guess."

There was no response to that, or at the very least nothing proper was coming to mind. Promises to try would be hollow as Quinn was much too stuck in her ways, ways that had sufficed for her entire life, and they both knew it. There was a motion in the corner of her eye that caught the blonde's attention and even as she was turning to see it more fully she recognized the petite brunette madly waving her arm across the grassy quad, resplendent even at the distance in her bright red coat. She was waving back before she realized she'd raised her hand and when she caught herself smiling at the other girl despite the hum of Brittany's breath in her ear, she knew she was in trouble. "I'm sorry, Britt," she winced, not specifying what for, knowing the other blonde wouldn't ask.

"It's okay," Brittany told her, voice like a whisper along the line. Rachel's lips were already moving, and between trying to hear her over the wind and the girl on the phone, Quinn felt something akin to panic build up behind her throat. "Look, Q, rehearsal is going to start here in a bit so I'll talk to you later, okay?" Quinn 'hmmed' in response, but her drifting focus wasn't distracted enough to miss Brittany's soft parting "love you" before the line went blank.

Well, if she hadn't felt like shit before she sure as hell did now.

!

The blonde dancer snapped her phone shut with another sigh and banged her head back against the wall she was sitting against. "Ow," she muttered but braced her forearms against her knees and dropped her hands into the space there. She would have screamed if she thought it would have helped but she had never really had to deal with this sort of frustration before. She participated in activities outside of Quinn before, had other friends beside her, had a _life_ outside of her girlfriend, all of which Quinn was completely aware of, so she wasn't sure why this interaction with Santana was such a big deal.

She wasn't even a hundred percent certain why she was letting the messy situation get her feeling this strung out either. Normally Quinn left her to her own devices, interacting only when she was directly engaged or Brittany asked her to be and if Quinn ever did have a problem with something the dancer was apt to drop it. The problem here was that the 'something' was 'Santana' and even though she'd never met the other girl, like Quinn had pointed out rather thoroughly, Brittany didn't _want _to drop her.

It was bordering on being too much for her to think about.

"Hey, B," the thin, wiry form of Mike Chang, her partner of almost two years, fell into a deceptively heavy sounding heap next to her. Effectively distracted from the dark storm cloud hovering over her head, the blonde offered him a dimmer version of her normal mega-watt smile and a wiggle of the fingers of her free hand. "Who were you on the phone with?" he nodded to the piece of electronics in her hand.

She glanced down in that direction like she'd forgotten she'd held the cherry red device. Almost surprised to see it, she glared briefly before chucking it unceremoniously into her open gym bag on the floor next to her. "Quinn," she answered shortly, twining now unoccupied fingers together.

The boy frowned, unused to her tone, and then shoved at her legs until they were laying flat out in front of her. He twisted so that he could recline fully on the hardwood floor and stare up her from where he laid his head in her lap. He took one of her hands and folded it between both of his on his chest and felt his lips twitch when the fingers of her other hand threaded through his black locks. "Did you guys have another fight?"

"When did we have a first one?" she asked, confusion drawing her eyebrows together and stilling the movement of her hand.

He shrugged awkwardly from the position, "I just kind of assumed because you're always so _stiff_ whenever you get off the phone with her anymore."

"Oh," she tilted her head back against the wall and Mike was left looking up at the underside of her chin. "Not a fight," she muttered, corners of her mouth turning down. "Just a, a disagreement, I guess."

"Bummer," he sympathized, disentangling one of his hands to brush a knuckle along her jaw line. She glanced down at him, grinning at his extravagant pout. "Will Salsa Saturday make you feel better?"

Her face lit up and fell within seconds of each other. "Can't," she shook her head, blonde hair falling in her eyes, "We have midterms next week, Mikey, and you know I can't afford to get behind."

He sat up suddenly and spun to face her and cross his legs at the same time, grace and ease built into his movements as a lifetime of dance seeped from his every pore. "We've been studying and rehearsing and studying and going to class and dancing in class and studying and going over technique and _studying _for weeks, months. We need this." He picked up both of her hands and pressed them against the solid planes of his chest over his skin-tight white leo, "_I _need this. If you love me you'll do this for me." And then he flashed her his best puppy-dog expression that he'd stolen from his younger brother years before. "Please?"

Every muscle between her forehead and neck twitched in an effort to not laugh as she shook her head if only to break eye contact.

"Brittany Susan Pierce," he intoned firmly. "A couple hours dancing to crazy awesome Cuban beats Saturday night will not make you fail your midterms. I'll swear my right leg on it. But if you're legitimately worried, I will personally lock you in your room and distract your roommate for all of Sunday so you won't get distracted for the rest of the weekend." She met his eyes shyly and he gave her the 'you know I'm right' look. "We need to freestyle, it's what the Lord hath decreed."

"Yeah?" her look was skeptical, but overlaid with amusement, "We wouldn't happen to be talking about the Lord of the Dance, would we?"

Mike nodded solemnly, "We would indeed."

She narrowed her eyes and poked him close to his bellybutton. "You're the Lord of the Dance, aren't you?"

"Brittany," he gasped in mock indignation, "You know I don't like to brag, but _ch'yeah._ And I'm pulling rank on this on. We're dancing Saturday night." Her smile broke out in all its glory and Mike laughed, reaching across her to pluck the phone from its spot onto of her things. "You won't regret this, blondie, I'll call Tina and Matt and you can even invite your girl, if you want."

Her hair flicking lightly across his face alerted him to the way she shook her head. "She probably has 'study group' like she does every weekend," the blonde explained, air quotes and all.

The Asian boy frowned doubtfully, "On a Saturday night?" Brittany shrugged and Mike narrowed his eyes. He'd met Quinn more than a few times over the last two years, mostly at the end of performances he and Brittany had been in, but for the most part she was little more than an acquaintance, so he didn't know her well enough to judge. "Okay then," he drew out even as he used her phone to text more of their mutual friends. He accidentally hit the wrong button and was brought into her incoming and outgoing call screen and one name jumped out at him. He grinned.

"Invite Santana then."

She frowned so hard at him that he thought she'd pull a muscle with the strain of the unnatural expression. "Asian Sensation say what?"

"Santana," he flipped the phone to wave the name next to the generic picture of a question mark under her nose. "You guys are friends, you talk to her all the time, she got you to watch Star Wars just by asking you to even though I've been trying for months and you were saying just yesterday that you wished you had the chance to chill with her face-to-face." His upper body shimmed like he could hold in the excitement of his own brilliance. "Invite her," he shoved the phone into her hands, "Call her right now."

_Mademoiselle _de Ribere strolled past them all natural grace and easy movements and both young dancers scrambled to their feet, fumbling awkwardly with Brittany's phone while trying desperately to hide the fact they were fumbling at all.

"Call her after rehearsal," Mike amended, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder and offering his hand to hold Brittany's as well.

"Quinn won't like it," the blonde squeezed his fingers and lead him into the practice room.

Mike tugged her hand to get her to pause and look at him. "Screw Quinn," he muttered lowly, dark brown eyes boring into bright blue, "I mean it, B. This is about fun and friends and blowing off steam. I think Santana's good for that for you and if Quinn doesn't like it she's just going to have to step up or step off."

She watched him for a moment, gaze never wavering and he wondered in that moment exactly what she saw when she looked at people that way. They let the rest of their class enter around them and at long last she turned the corner of her lips up and nodded once. "I'll call her after rehearsal."

!

Santana crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently, glaring balefully at the back of the head of the guy in front of her. All she wanted was to grab a cup of coffee before heading to her noon class like usual, but with a big testing week coming up it seemed like half of the University was camped out in the tiny on-campus shop and it was taking her longer than usual.

_I swear to God_, she thought glancing at the time on her phone for the tenth time in two minutes, _if I'm late for class I'm coming back here and eviscerating every one of these fuckers._

Her phone vibrated in her hand and she clicked the 'call answer' button without even looking at the screen. "Yeah?" she all but barked into the speaker.

"Whoa, someone's not enjoying their day. Should I call back later?" the feminine voice on the other end was almost timid and apologetic and if the Latina noticed at all how much her stance loosened at just the sound of it she never gave it a second thought.

"Oh hey, Britt. I'm sorry, it's just been a long ass week and being stuck in line waiting right now is _so_ not helping the situation."

"Stuck in line? Don't you have psych in, like, ten minutes?" concern leaked into her tone and Santana was warmed by it, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction at the thought that the other girl knew her schedule.

She shrugged despite the fact that Brittany couldn't see her and shuffled ahead a foot when the line budged, "Yeah, but this place is packed. Hopefully these fuckers don't make me late."

"Well we do know how you get without your caffeine fix," Brittany laughed lightly and the darker girl smirked in response to it. "Just don't murder anyone or else Quinn may actually have a reason to freak."

_Well that was an odd comment_, Santana thought. Other than the first few times they talked Brittany's girlfriend was very rarely brought up and it was usually only in past context like, 'When we were fourteen Quinn and I made the high school cheerleading squad. Our coach was insane. I'm serious, San! We had weapons training. I left high school at ninety-four percent accuracy with a 9mm.'

Yet it was more than just the mentioning of her girlfriend-slash-Santana's roommate that put her on high-alert. It was also in the way she said it, almost resigned like she was stating fact.

"What do you mean? Has she said something to you?" Because if she had then there were plenty of choice words she had for the poli-sci major.

"Ha, no. Nothing serious. It's mostly just Quinn being, I don't know, Quinn." Santana pressed her lips and scoffed the tip of her boot against the tile of the coffee shop. She didn't mind when people talked about her. She was a badass and a bit of a narcissist and all over _that_ kind of girl and people were going to talk shit about her, she knew that. What she didn't like was people talking shit about her behind her back. If you had the balls to say something, you better have the balls to say it to her face or else what's the fucking point, right? She wasn't naïve enough to think that it didn't happen, she just didn't like it. But the thought that someone, someone who didn't know _shit _about her, was saying things to Brittany was a different beast entirely.

"Santana?" Brittany was hesitant and the dark girl realized she had lost herself in her own thoughts for a few moment because when she blinked up she was at the front of the line. The guy behind the counter was giving her a look but she held up a finger for another minute. "It really didn't mean anything legit, Quinn's just been really weird lately and she tends to take her moods out on easy targets."

The Latina knew more about that than she was probably ever going to admit to the other girl. "I know, Britt. Give me a second to put in my order."

She pressed the mouthpiece to her shoulder and let loose a glare hot enough to make the offending barista flinch back. She told him her order and paid and when she lifted the phone back up there was shuffling on the other end and the odd rumble of a male voice shouting '_ask her now, the Lord commands you!_' in the background.

"_Shut up, Mike!_" her laugh and voice were directed away from her phone, based on the way they carried, and Santana had the sudden urge to know what color the other girl's eyes were and if they emoted the way her voice did. "Hey, Santana," Brittany breathed into her ear and she wondered at the shiver it sent down her spine. "Do you want to go out with me on Saturday?"

Her mind blanked.

* * *

><p>Uh… thoughts?<p>

**Toasty**. Thanks :D I hope you continue to enjoy  
><strong>Ryoko05<strong>. Thanks for the review!  
><strong>md09<strong>. thak you, the connection is kind of awesome, huh? :)  
><strong>ShadSquirrel<strong>. thank you, there are just some forces you can't stop lol  
><strong>Cassicio<strong>. aw thanks, I'm trying to stay within certain characterizations but sometimes the little buggers get away from me lol, on the upside I think we have a similar grasp on Rachel, but it's def something to think on, thanks!  
><strong>35words<strong>. thanks!  
><strong>Blueskkies<strong>. sooooon, promise :) thanks for the review  
><strong>Kidds<strong>. thank you! I'll do what I can  
><strong>Shine90<strong>. all things in time, friend, all things in time. lol thanks for the review  
><strong>G<strong>. thank you!  
><strong>MaxximumRide666<strong>. awesome review, as always, ha :) yeah, i can't imagine dealing with a hangover AND a bitchy roommate but good things came from it, no?  
><strong>wkgreen<strong>. thank you! hope this keeps you satisfied for a tic  
><strong>your. kat<strong>. okay, so I swear I don't wait for you to review twice just to update! It just happened that way! As for locking myself in a room, can I be let out to see Harry Potter? Cause if not I'm not so down for this plan.  
><strong>o0IKissedAGirl0o<strong>. welcome to the party! thank you so much for the review and kindness :)  
><strong>LunarMiko07<strong>. ha, well it's not a visit but hopefully this works just as well for you :) thanks for the review  
><strong>DarknessRules558<strong>. thank you :)  
><strong>besmart<strong>. haha thanks. i think that's the romantic in you lol  
><strong>16candlez<strong>. we got to build it up first, tho ;)  
><strong>Random Dice<strong>. aww thanks! so many questions lol guess you'll just have to hang around to find out :p  
><strong>your. kat.<strong> you kill me, you know? lol


	6. In Which Parallels Are Drawn

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi

This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

First of all: love the love :D

Second: My most sincere apologies for the delay. I was on vacation. At Harry Potter World (and to a lesser degree of excitement Disney World). It's a legit excuse, so please don't hate me :/ And then I had to catch up on like two weeks worth of other people's fabulous pieces of fiction, so it took some time, you know?

Not going to lie, I kind of hated this chapter until I reread it, now I don't think its so bad, but I'd just love to hear what you all think.

* * *

><p>The hustle of the coffee shop faded until all Santana could hear was the echoing of Brittany's voice rattling around the hollow space between her ears. Not even the little twerp behind the granite counter waving her order around registered past the words 'go out with me.'<p>

It wasn't that she'd never been asked out before in that breezy casual way, or even the first time it had been done by another girl (she grew up in NYC after all) but for whatever reason she just… short-circuited.

On the other end of the line, Brittany was looking down at the silent phone in her hand with about as much confusion as the device had ever caused her. And that included the four times she'd tried to created a voicemail message on it. She could hear the distant rumbling of sound from the coffee shop and Santana's erratic breaths so she knew she hadn't been disconnected, but the other girl's sudden silence was nothing short of baffling. She covered the mouthpiece unnecessarily and turned to Mike who was watching her with an openly curious expression.

"Well?" he whispered excitedly, leaning forward and grasping her shoulder lightly.

Brittany blinked and met his eyes cautiously, "I think I broke her."

"What?" he felt her shrug under his hand. "Give me the phone," he lunged quickly but she ducked under his outstretched hand and danced away from him gracefully.

"No," she shushed him, waving her free arm and keeping about three feet between them despite the way he chased her about the open hall. "Santana?" she asked, half laughing and breathless, in the phone, "You still there?"

The Latina shuddered at the sound, coming back to the present and the irate boy behind the counter. She took her coffee with a sneer and hurried out of the shop, half sentences and jumbled words filtered through the haze of her mind until one coherent thought tumbled passed her lips. "I'm not gay." It was seriously _not _what she meant to say. "I didn't mean to say that."

"I- okay?" Brittany stopped short at the confession causing Mike to run headlong into her.

He swung his arms around her middle to stop the blonde from falling to the ground from the transfer of force but she didn't seem to notice so he settled his hands on her hips and gave her a shake. "What'd she said?" he whispered, taking in her confused look slowly.

She shook him off lightly and he could tell by the look on her face that something was said that she didn't particularly like. "San?"

"What I meant to say is, uh, Brittany, that's not what I- I didn't mean- I just. Fuck!" Santana cursed at herself and went to smack herself on the forehead but realized that her free hand wasn't actually free and she'd rather feel like an jerk than a jerk with hot coffee spilled all over her head. "That came out wrong." She waited for a reply but there was none forthcoming so she knew she that the other girl was either pissed or hurt and based on the impression she'd got over the last two months, Santana was willing to bet on hurt. She had to fix this and fast, but what could you say to a gay friend after a slightly homophobic outburst? "I meant that I, uh," she winced at herself and, squeezing her eyes shut, she pounded the heel of the hand holding her phone solidly against her forehead in time as she mentally berated herself: '_stupid, stupid, stupid._' It wasn't the first time she'd been caught off-guard by someone but every time before had only proven to her that she had a silver tongue when it came to manipulating a conversation. So what did that say about Brittany? "I'm sorry," she murmured when nothing else came to mind.

"Brittany?" Santana jerked at the voice that was neither hers nor Brittany's that tumbled along the line between them. The masculine tone wasn't one she recognized and startled she echoed the questioning pitch. "Britt?"

The blonde in question let the thoughts that she was thinking, little splinters of an original thought that had shattered against some mental block like glittering shards of glass, fall away at the sound of her own name from two very different voices. She stepped away from Mike and held up a finger to indicate she needed a moment before pinching the bridge of her nose and forcing the confusing swirl of emotion in her head into a more controllable little knot at the back of her mind. The beginnings of a small headache throbbed there but her mind cleared and her face blanked. It took a lot more effort than people realized to think nothing at all.

"Saturday," she sighed, rubbing the base of her hand against her eyelids as a physical means to erase the entire conversation so she didn't have to think about what any of it meant. "Saturday," she said it again but in the bright voice that Santana was used to hearing. The Latina wondered what it meant even as the sound of it twisted the walls of her stomach painfully. "Mike and I were planning on taking a study break and going dancing Saturday night. You want to come with?"

The dark girl wasn't so caught up in listening to the other's voice to completely miss what was being said. "Dancing?" she repeated and then: "Who's Mike?" And even though she'd asked the question, the answer was lost in the sudden realization that inviting her out meant one thing very specific. "Hold up a second, you're in New York?"

!

Quinn was good at compartmentalizing. She's fairing certain, to her own knowledge that is, that there was no one better at it. And saying so wasn't bragging, it was just stating fact. She was able to separate out aspects of her life that other people might find too entangled or connected but for her were entirely different parts of the whole of her life. Like Brittany and Rachel.

The two were opposite ends of the spectrum, stood for two different sides of her, and all she wanted to do was keep it that way. Unfortunately between the two of them, and school, her time was limited and her nerves were on the far end of being frayed. Santana was supposed to help with that. Possibly. Maybe.

Quinn hadn't quite figured that part out yet.

The Latina was like a piece on a chessboard whose function the blonde didn't yet know. She was subordinate, to a point, but there was something simmering under the surface, something Quinn couldn't control. She didn't like that, the lack of control, the not knowing, and more than that she didn't like relying on someone she considered unpredictable. She didn't trust her and more than that, she just _really _didn't like Santana Lopez.

She didn't like her stupid brooding glare or her idiotic, chauvinistic friend or that _stupid_, single genuine smile that she got whenever her phone lit up with an incoming call from Quinn's girlfriend. People weren't supposed to get that excited when talking to someone else's girlfriend. And trust her, she knew that Britt was a great friend, she'd been her best friend for more than a decade, but their were lines people weren't supposed to cross and the Latina was taking her carefully constructed system and tap-dancing all over it. Plus Brittany's dedication to that friendship was beginning to border on the ridiculous and if Quinn hadn't been harboring at least one murderous thought towards the darker girl before, she was now.

The two were virtual strangers that spoke almost constantly which not only cut into Quinn's own phone time with her girlfriend but if ever she did manage to get the other blonde on the line, Brittany did little more than rave about Santana. She should have put an end to it, indeed had wanted to, before it even began but Brittany was more stubborn than anyone knew. She had laid the stakes before Quinn could settle her footing properly and now all the poli-sci major could do was scramble for a proper vantage point.

Things with Rachel were much more simple.

Rachel listened and fawned and wore her heart on her sleeve and Quinn didn't have to _think_ around her. The tiny girl was a whirlwind and there was little more Quinn could do than hold on and enjoy the ride. It was unexpected, to deal with such a force wrapped up in knee highs and argyle, and that made it exhilarating.

The tiny brunette she'd been partnered with in physics lab on the first day of class was so damn trusting and _impressionable _with her big brown eyes and wide smile that the blonde knew the smaller girl had never had her heart broken or faced a serious challenge in her life. She was innocent and bright and so damn _insecure_ that high school Quinn would have taken her down without a second thought. But college Quinn was a little fish in a big pond without a fraction of the clout she's had the year before and that was enough to make her pause and look twice. And Rachel had taken that second of hesitation to flash a smile that made Quinn's breath catch and face flush. In that moment, half of her wanted to wrap the tiny brunette in bubble wrap and Kevlar to protect her from the world while the other half wanted to be the one to corrupt her. It was like wielding a double edged sword that made her feel dizzy and powerful all at once.

Brittany used to smile at her like that.

But that was blurring the lines and Quinn knew too much, had been with the dancer too long to be able to fool herself into thinking there was no pain, no heartache, behind Brittany's bubblegum smile. She loved Brittany, had loved her for years, but things changed. She had changed. Rachel was a change.

But the two were distinct, different. She liked it that way.

It was unfortunate that Santana was one of the cards she had to play to keep things going to the way they were. She wished for a moment that she knew more about her roommate, knew what made her tick, how her mind worked, what was important and what was superficial.

People were easier to manipulate when you understood their base desires.

"Quinn?" cautious fingers tugged at the wrist of her long sleeve shirt, drawing the blonde out of the fog of her thoughts. "…are you listening to me?"

She blinked and flashed her patent Fabray smile, "Of course, Rachel." Reaching out for her now lukewarm coffee she watched the uncertainty fade from brown eyes and like she hadn't stopped in the first place Rachel was off once more about vectors and forces. Quinn tried to bring her focus back around but it was difficult and it certainly didn't help that Rachel kept her fingers at the blonde's wrist and was starting to tap out a pattern on the exposed skin like keys on a piano. Struck by a thought she slipped her hand down until it cupped Rachel's and gently lifted the appendage until it was eye-level and suddenly her attention was refocused. The brunette's hands were small, like everything else about her body, but there was strength in them. Quinn wondered it the girl really did play the piano.

She was vaguely aware of the other girl's voice dropping off as a violent blush erupted across her cheeks and Quinn smirked faintly. She kind of loved having that sort of power.

!

Santana made it to her class, ten minutes late, but she had only missed the professor going over the layout of their upcoming test so she wasn't terribly worried. She even managed not to flip off her TA when he shot her a dirty look from the back of the auditorium, so extra points for the Latina.

The real problem presented itself once the old man in the front began prattling on about Freud and Jung and Santana found her attention shifting from his droning voice to the implications of what she had learned in the time it took her to be late for the class in the first place.

Brittany was in the city. Her city.

And apparently she'd been there the entire time.

Ignoring for a moment the confounding and conflicting feelings of elation and anxiety that erupted at the simple thought that the girl she spoke to on the phone actually existed as a person in her world, the Latina was presented with another conundrum. Her ever-so-lovely roommate, Quinn Fabray. It didn't make any damn sense. If you were going to cheat on your long-term, long-distance girlfriend wasn't said girlfriend supposed _be_ long distance? If Brittany was legitimately a hop, skip and a jump away why would Quinn be looking for an on-campus booty call? And why did Santana even _care_? There had to be more to the story, more to the two of them because right now she was looking at a puzzle with giant, gapping holes in the middle completely obscuring the whole picture and it was making her skin itch. There had to be more going on. Something she was missing about Quinn, or about Brittany, that she needed to know to make this all make sense and she wasn't going to get it from her roommate. Except…

It wasn't the first time she'd be meddling in something that technically wasn't any of her business but this would be the first time she'd be doing it to someone she actually liked. But if there _was_ something off then she wanted to know, needed to know. She hated not knowing, but she wasn't sure if she hated it more than she liked having someone akin to a friend.

There was, of course, a way to kill both birds with one swing. And she could have some fun while doing it. Controlling a smile she slipped her phone from her front jeans' pocket and tapped out a text. **Hey sorry 'bout earlier.**

**S'ok u make it 2 class ok? **came back less than a minute later.

The Latina felt her smirk falter at the other girl's show of concern and her thumbs twitched aimlessly over the keyboard of her phone for a second. **Couple minutes late no big. Offer for sat still good?**

It took longer for the reply to come but after chewing on her thumbnail and tuning into her professor for a couple of minutes her phone buzzedwith a simple **course**. Santana spun the phone languidly even as her thoughts ran wild. Plans could be figured out later, for now she had to deal with the unanticipated anxiety that made her heart race at just the thought of actually meeting Brittany face to face. Bringing the bubbly girl that close gave her a face, made her more real and changed, well, _everything_.

She had a good thing going with the other girl, it was easy with no drama. Perfect.

Only her thought earlier about the color of Brittany's eyes was plaguing her once more and her curiosity was beginning to spread to what the girl looked like. How she smiled. If she talked with her hands. Her body stilled and her eyes unfocused as she got lost in her thoughts. It wasn't until the student in the seat next to her scrapped his chair against the ground in order to stand that she realized she'd spent the entire class staring down at her phone. _In for a penny_, she thought and tapped out a reply before gathering her things and looking around for someone she could bully into sharing their notes.

!

The phone on Brittany's stomach vibrated gently, drawing her attention away from the book she held above her head and to the device. From his armchair next to the couch the blonde was laying on Mike watched her set the book on her chest and flick open the message. Over the top of his laptop he noted the war of emotion that streaked across her face. Joy and anxiety, hope mixed with just a touch of something her might read as shame. She touched the screen of the phone with her thumbnail, then tossed it into her bag on the floor and picked the book back up.

Confused he lowered the top of his computer and tilted his head in her direction, "What's the word, bright eyes?"

"She's in," she replied quickly even as her shoulders stiffened oddly considering her position on the couch. Closing her reading material a little, she lowered it back down in the smooth motions he was used to seeing her make and furrowed her eyebrows at the ceiling.

He nodded once, slowly, the hesitance in her expression saying more than she ever would with words. "You okay, B?"

She turned her head to catch his eye and he frowned, pouting extravagantly until she cracked a smile and rolled her eyes. "Yeah," she answered after a beat, "I'm good."

He quirked a dark eyebrow and she mirrored him and then stuck out her tongue for good measure, which he then copied. Grinning and giggling to themselves, Brittany lifted her book back up and Mike reopened the laptop. "You say it, kid, and I'll believe it." Yet when he looked back up a few minutes later her book had been replaced by her phone and she was biting at her bottom lip like it was made of candy, and given her choice of lip gloss it might have tasted that way. Worried, he saved the paper he was working on and closed his laptop. Reaching out he grabbed the toe of her bright yellow converse and gave her foot a shake. "Britts? Talk to me, girl."

She twitched her nose and regarded him over the fold of her hands, "It's not, like, cheating, is it?"

"What's not like cheating?" he felt his face scrunch up in confusion.

Her feet swept off the armrest in the same motion she used to sit up and lean in close to her dance partner. "Going out with Santana," she shrugged. "Without Quinn."

"But you're not going out with her, she's coming out with us," he clarified, shifting to prop his chin up in the palm of his hand. "Something going on with her? Santana?" Brittany shook her head. "Quinn?" he asked only to get another negative shake but there was something in the set of her shoulders that made him think she wasn't all that certain about her own answer. He pursed his lips in thought. "Do you want me to uninvited Santana?"

"No," she murmured quietly.

He frowned in thought and flicked his eyes across her face, but he could see her withdrawing into her own head and knew that was the end of it for now.

_Well_, he thought, _Saturday looks promising as hell._

* * *

><p>Thoughts? Here's mine: why is it every time I get on this site I feel like I need to create a tumblr account? Anyone?<p>

**Ryoko05**: sorry if I left you on the edge. one more chap, promise :) thanks for the review

**your. kat**: first, thanks for the reprieve for Harry Potter. I saw it twice, and then I went to the theme park. second, I have a legit love for your epic reviews. third, I've never written Rachel before (not for realz) so hopefully I do you proud. fourth, no, **you** stay awesome!

**besmart**: I can't really speak for Mike, but I'll try and put a good word in for you lol. No worries about the hyperness, but let's share the chocolate next time, no? thanks for the review

**o0IKissedAGirl0o**: Don't hate her too much! I'm glad you like it :) soon, k?

**anotherfuckingbitch**: i'm sorrrrrry! :( but thanks for the review :D

**Kaede Shinomori**: glad you liked it! hope you liked this one too :)

**asiansensation**: I guess I can't get rid of him now ;) thanks for the review

**MaxximumRide666**: Hopefully I can keep that upward trend going . thanks for the review dear heart :)

**checkersismygame21**: well you're very welcome, and thank **you **very much :D

**adryrules99**: I'm sorry! I'll try and make it up to you!

**Shine90**: you know I'm looking forward to chapter 9 too, I'm not sure whats going to be in but it should be good lol. thanks for the review :)

**DeathByRainbowUnicorn**: I'm sorry, I'm a little distracted by your name o.o but it is a funny mental image, huh? lol thank you

**Toasty**: you salsa? I'm jealous lol thanks :)

**t3rri**: I do what I can, yeah? ha, glad you got around to it and that you're enjoying it so far

**your. kat**: go to Harry Potter World and get a wand. maybe that will help?

**your. kat (again)**: I'm kind of tempted to just wait and see how many times you'll review lol. I'm kidding of course, because I wouldn't do that... nope, not at all. :P

**DarknessRules558**, **Rhettlee**, **SouthernMisfit**, **Verena** **R**, **Blueskkies**, **DeadFlash27**, **you-smell-terrific**, **wkgreen**, **LunarMiko07**, **PureWiings**, **dagleekB: thank you guys soooooooo much! :D I love hearing from you!**


	7. In Which We Need A Distraction

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

This chapter is brought to you by my shiney new Birds of Prey DVD and Sugarland. Lots and lots of Sugarland. I know, it's only been 10 days. Don't freak out. It'll be okay. This is quick for me. But it's been a good week, lots of warm fuzzy feelings. On a side note, my coffee machine is broken and while it's not a _huge_ deal, it upsets me. On a personal level. I like my coffee.

* * *

><p>"Wait, what do you mean you don't want to see me tonight?"<p>

Quinn's mind whirled into overdrive, mentally tracing every second since she'd last seen the other girl the day before, trying to figure out if she'd inadvertently slipped up. Nothing was coming to mind but the smaller girl had proved to be rather perceptive to the slightest things, so just because she couldn't think of something didn't mean it hadn't happened.

"It's not that I don't _want_ to see you," the blonde breathed a sigh of relief, "but with the first important test week of our college career impending I would greatly appreciate actually spending a Saturday study session _studying_."

"We study," Quinn pouted and began tracing circles on the top of her bare desk.

"Yes, at first," there was a pause that had the blonde's lips twitching, "yet somehow we always seem to end up, well, _otherwise engaged_."

She cracked a grin as she imagined the flush on Rachel's cheeks at the thought of what she meant. They'd spent almost every Saturday evening since the beginning of the school year together and while they had originally met to study the change in the dynamic of their relationship had resulted in a definite change in their study habits. Basically they made out. A lot.

It had quickly became a high point of her week.

"Quinn, I hope you understand."

It wasn't like she could argue. Rachel had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that schooling came second only to her career aspirations and while grades were important to Quinn, they were beyond vital to the brunette's twenty year plan.

"I get it, Rach." But just because she couldn't argue didn't mean she had to like it, "I guess I'll just spend my Saturday night, right here. Alone," she scrapped her nails against the spines of the books that lined the upper shelf of her desk, "all by myself."

"As long as you're not going to be dramatic about it," the sarcastic quality of her voice had Quinn grinning as she rolled her eyes at the irony of the Theatre Arts major calling her dramatic. "Listen, I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah, I guess." Her finger snagged a particular book from the collection, Milton's Paradise Lost, and she frowned. She was pretty much studied out and while she had been looking forward to seeing the shorter girl, she was well aware of her own situation and wasn't about to try and make it into something more than what it was. It sucked though. Royally. "Enjoy your studying."

"Enjoy your alone time," Rachel snarked back jovially and peeped a '_buh-bye!_' and Quinn heard a dial tone before she could form a reply. She couldn't help the way the corner of her lips quirked at Rachel's cheek before setting the phone down and turning her attention onto the book in her other hand.

She turned around and half leant/half sat on the desk, flipping the pages until they opened naturally on the set of pictures she'd stashed there. "'_The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell_'," she quoted under her breath, flicking from one glossy photo to another, "'_a hell of heaven_'."

The door to the bedroom opened and out stepped Santana, fitting a silver hoop earring into one ear and talking quietly into her phone cradled against her shoulder. Quinn glanced up from the pictures and, through her eyelashes, slowly took in her roommate's outfit. A thin strip of tanned skin showed between a black singlet that clung to her upper body like a second skin and tight, dark jeans that fit low on her hips, hugged her thighs and calves and flared out slightly over high strappy heels as a multi-chain belt hung from her right hip to her left thigh. She looked hot.

Quinn kind of hated her more because of it.

"Going out?" she asked when Santana hung up the phone, eyes back on the pictures as she acted like she hadn't just checked the other girl out.

Eyes down meant she missed the brief flash of surprise and suspicion across the darker girl's face. "Uh, yeah," she turned her head to slip in the matching earring into the other piercing and felt the weight of her ponytail slap the side of her neck. The blonde was acting much too relaxed for Santana's liking, especially considering how nervous she was feeling about that evening. Just the prospect of meeting Brittany, putting a face to the voice, was filling her stomach up with butterflies and making her palms itch. And Quinn was just standing there like it meant nothing. Or like… Santana cracked a grin as she reached for her black leather bombers' jacket, like Brittany hadn't told her at all. She supposed on some level she should be a little hurt that the other girl hadn't mentioned her plans to Quinn, suspicious even that she was keeping secrets from her girlfriend, but she was too busy being grateful that she could exit her dorm without the blonde making snide comments or glaring icy daggers at her back to truly wonder at Brittany's motives.

She glanced back once she had her fingers wrapped around the doorknob, maybe to ensure that Quinn wasn't going to jump her when her guard was down or maybe for some other reason, but she realized that the other girl was too engrossed in what ever she was looking at be aware of anything else. Dark blonde eyebrows were furrowed thoughtfully and if Santana didn't know any better she'd say Quinn was pouting. She felt the question well up in her throat, but it had been a good day so far and a promising night was in store and she just wasn't in the mood to ruin it with unnecessary drama so she tapped her hand against her front coat pocket to ensue she had the essentials and left the room without looking back again.

Not that Quinn was paying attention to her anyhow, as her fingers and eyes had stilled on a specific picture. It was after Nationals their senior year- her fourth title, third as captain of the squad and the school's eighth in a row- and the normally stoic HBIC had been ambushed by Brittany just as the results were announced. The dancer had wrapped her arms around Quinn's middle and lifted her bodily from the ground, spinning and laughing madly like every dark cloud in the world had been dissipated in that very moment. It had been infectious and some other Cheerio had caught the moment just as the shorter blonde had thrown her head back over Brittany's shoulder, legs kicking the air and bright joy and laughter evident even from the sliver of her face visible from the odd angle.

It was one of two pictures from that day she had in the stack, the second occurring moments after the first but in that photo the two girls were face-to-face and pressed stomach-to-stomach. Brittany's arms were again around her middle but this time holding her flush and Quinn could still remember the burning in her calves as she strained on tip-toes to have her arms around the taller girl's neck as she pressed their lips together.

It had been a good day.

She thought about calling the other girl, but knew that Brittany had likely made plans with her friends as she had for every Saturday that Quinn had been busy since school started. Plus, calling now and asking her to cancel would feel trite and more a tad pathetic, besides which she could use some alone time. She hadn't had that much of it since she met Rachel. "A hell of heaven, indeed," she sighed and let the book fall shut around the remnants of her past gently. She blew out a breath that ruffled her bangs and was inexplicably weary for the first time all day.

!

Having in equal parts anticipated and dreaded this evening, it had come a lot faster than Santana had prepared for and her eagerness shone through in the fact that she was ready and out the door before eight. She knew Brittany and whoever else was going to be there tonight were probably eating dinner at that moment, apparently when she and Mike planned dancing excursions they tended to be themed and all day events, so salsa dancing was coupled with movies and food. Santana had been invited to all parts of the night, but she had begged off to meet them at the club after ten.

It wasn't that she didn't want to do the other things, per say, but meeting at the club- surrounded by strangers and music- it was a comfort thing for the Latina. At dinner she would be expected to interact with people she didn't know for an indiscernible amount of time, it would be too awkward. And what if she made a fool of herself in front of Brittany? Or Brittany's friends? It was hard to be charming while stuffing your face. Or what if, God forbid, her friends didn't like Santana? No, the club would be better because conversation would be limited and there were more places to hide, she could even disappear into the crowd if need be. Knowing she had that escape option made a difference, it calmed her.

She liked having her options open.

Unfortunately, that left her with little over two hours to kill and nothing to do, so she sat down on the bench in front of the dorm, pulled out her phone out and waited for a distraction. Said distraction pulled up roughly ten minutes later in a silver 2009 Dodge Challenger SRT8 and when the dark tinted windows whirled down Puck was already waggling his eyebrows and leering, "Hey there, sexy lady, you up for a good time?"

She flipped him off without looking up, "Proposition me again and I'll take great pleasure in taking away your ability to procreate, _comprende_?""Whatever, Lopez," his smirk didn't falter as he rolled his eyes to follow her standing and walking to the other side of the car. "You called me, remember?"

She grunted in reply, clicking open the passenger side door and slipping into the seat, "Remember, regret, take your pick."

He laughed and revved the engine, "What's the plan, woman? Movies? Party?" He peeling away from the building he glanced at Santana excitedly, "Strip Club?"

"Food," she shrugged, "Preferably something without a dollar menu or sagging _ta-tas_ in my face."

"Saturday night _tas_ wouldn't sag, which you would know if you ever took me up on my offers. But whatever," he waved her off and made his way towards Northern Boulevard, "then what?"

Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text from Brittany, she grinned and replied that yes, she was excited about tonight. From the corner of her eyes she caught Puck watching her suspiciously. "Then," she dropped her phone back into its place, "you drop me off at the 72 on the Upper East Side and be about your merry way."

"Don't playa hate, Lopez." He narrowed his eyes and pulled his arm from where it laid across the headrest of her seat warily, "I'm not dropping you off for some kind of date, am I? 'Cause that shit would just be cruel."

"It's not a date," she replied distractedly, opening a new text from Brittany.

**wht r u wearin? ;) **Santana felt the back of her neck heat up, but before she could tap out a reply the device buzzed again in her hand. **so we can find u at 72**."Idiot," she murmured and cottoned on to the cagey looks Puck kept shooting her. "Keep your eyes on the road."

"Don't tell me how to drive," he stuck out his tongue and shifted his hands on the steering wheel to the proper ten and two position. "But legit, is it one of those 'we won't call it a date but if it turns into hot, against-the-bathroom-wall sex then maybe we'll admit it's a date' kind of thing?"

She leveled a flat look at him and stared until the mad image he'd just planted in her head went away. "One," she flicked his ear sharply making him flinch and swerve. "Two, you're a pervert and I am willing to bet money that has never happened to you. Three," she punched him in the arm hard enough to produce a rebellious '_hey!_' from him. "Four, I'm meeting Brittany, a girl," and grumbled "ass-hat" under her breath for good measure.

"So," he drew it out and glanced up in thought, " 'not a date unless it turns into hot, _lesbian_, against-the-bathroom-wall sex'?" He saw her raise a fist again and was able to brace himself for the impact. "Ow! Stop hitting me, woman, or I'm kicking your ass outta my ride!" They glared at one another for a moment until the mo-hawked boy caught himself drifting and started to pay attention to where he was going. Indignantly, he rubbed at the spot on his arm that she'd just hit, "Christ, woman, you hit like a welterweight." He glanced at her again but she was steadfastly staring out the window, arms crossed over her chest in defense. Counting backwards from five he sighed, "Look, I'm sorry or whatever. I know you're touchy about that shit, but I was just makin' a joke, and you need to calm your tits about it."

It wasn't a stellar apology by any stretch of the imagination, but they both knew it was all she was going to get so she dropped her hands to her lap and turned to face forward. "Whatever."

"Oh come on, Lopez," he lightly knuckled her shoulder, "Loosen up. A little girl-on-girl never hurt anyone, some experimentation might do you some good, knock that homophobic chip off your shoulder."

"I'm not homophobic," she stated hotly, swinging at him once more but the strength went out before she could connect and he feared for a moment that he actually hit a nerve. "Can we _not _talk about this please?"

"For the love of God, yes," he groaned, more than willing to comply. And then after nearly an entire minute of nothing but the radio, the whole conversation caught up with him, "Who the fuck is Brittany anyways?"

!

It took considerably less arm twisting to get Puck to drop her off than one would think based on the way he bitched and moaned about it throughout dinner. There was the fact that he kept calling shenanigans on her about having a legitimate friend (_but you don't _have_ friends. You have me and a combined online community of like nine hundred between facebook and X-box live_) and insisting that he wouldn't believe it was true until he met her. That lead to a half an hour argument about why he wasn't allowed to go to the club with her (_you weren't invited, jackass_) which somehow got around to how unfair it was that _this chick_'s friends got to meet and vet the Latina and he couldn't do the same to her (_but it's not _fair_, S_).

So when quarter to eleven rolled around and he was idling less than half a block from the club, pouting as he watched her touch up her makeup in the visor mirror, she way slightly inclined to reach over and ruffle the strip of hair along the top of his head, "Thanks for the ride, Puckerman."

His lips fell into a natural smirk. "If you think that ride was _mmph_-"

"Yeah, been there, done that. Don't make me want to castrate you any more than I already do." She grinned balefully and pulled her hand from where she'd clapped it over his mouth to tap him none-too-gently on the cheek.

She was out of the car and half a step away when his voice calling her name drew her attention backwards. "What?" she asked, nerves showing themselves in her exasperated tone.

He looked her in the eyes and it was a testament to how serious he was that his gaze only flickered to her chest twice when she bent through the open window. "You're freaking out," he told her bluntly and continued before she could protest, "but don't fuckin' stress, ai'ight? You're pretty badass when you're just being you, so you know, chill out."

It was a tad unsettling for her to be called out like that, by Puck especially, but she wasn't about to let it show now. Now was the time to get her game face on. "Shows what you know, Puckerman, Ima badass all the fuckin' time."

"That's my girl," he grinned and held out his fist.

She couldn't very well leave him hanging, not after all that, so she tapped her knuckles to his and rolled her eyes, "You're an idiot." And then finally made her way towards the club.

!

A definite upside to being Santana Lopez was that she got into the hottest clubs in NYC like everybody else in the country got into McDonalds. With a flash of her fake id, a subtle shift of her jacket to show her body underneath and a wink for the largely muscled bouncer the velvet rope was lifted with a steady look and a slight nod. It was once she was in the building that she was presented with a problem.

Surrounded by flashing lights, pulsing beats and writhing bodies she was one in the crowd looking for people whose faces she didn't know. Maybe she should have asked Brittany for a description because all she had to go on was a voice and an impression and neither one of those were going to be of much help to her at the present moment.

She pulled out her phone and tapped out a text to Brittany, but she wasn't all that hopeful considering the other girl had stopped responding almost an hour ago when she had last told Santana that they were making their way to the club. Frustrated she turned towards the bar, hoping that a shot of something would settle the odd sensation in her stomach, but she hadn't got four steps when a soft touched hand landed on her shoulder. She turned slowly, anticipation making the motion much more terrifying than it had any right to be, but the sight that greeted her was not was she expected.

The boy was tall- tall to the point where the top of her head tipped just passed his chin, cute- beautiful even when the light caught the smile in his eyes, with soft features and, judging by the way his t-shirt clung to his sinewy frame, a hard body. He was everything she liked in a guy which was why the frustration that welled up in her at the fact that this guy was definitely _not_ Brittany and was in effect delaying her from the other girl was a smidgen bewildering. "What?" she snapped, frustrated.

"Santana?" he asked hesitantly, dropping his hand from her shoulder at the look on her face.

The Latina blinked up at him, but nothing in his face told her that we even knew who she was and she sure as hell didn't recognize him. "Do I know you?"

"Oh good," he gushed, shoulders dropping as the uncertainty left them. "We weren't sure when you were going to show because it was getting late and you hadn't texted in a while but B was all like 'don't hate, she'll show' and we were all-"

"That's all very fascinating, I'm sure," she cut him off by pressing the tips of her nails to his chest before backing away with a shake of her head. "But I still don't know who the hell you are."

"Oh, heh right," he laughed and reached up to rub the back of his neck embarrassedly while holding his other hand out to her, "I'm Mike Chang." She raised an eyebrow and kept her face blank, watching as his fell and his offered hand dropped. "I'm Brittany partner," he added uncertainly, just over the din of the music. "We, eh, dance … together? An-nd," he drew out when her face twitched, "You're totally fucking with me, aren't you?"

She grinned and over the music voiced, "Couldn't resist." Offering her own hand, which he took immediately, she greeted him, "Santana Lopez."

"Come on," he gestured further into the club, "Our table's over here."

It hit her then, kind of all at once, that her heart was pounding in time with the music. It was fast and hard and hot. "Brittany's over there?" she repeated, glancing in the direction he'd indicated, despising the waver in her voice and praying that even if this stranger could hear it, that he couldn't possibly know what it meant.

It took her a moment to realize he was chuckling lightly. "Brittany? At the table? No," he laughed again and motioned to the dance floor where a mass of bodies was writhing in time with the beat. "If there's music playing, and that includes the mental Pandora Radio she has going twenty-four-seven in her head, your girl's going to be where the action is. If you just wait a sec, yeah, there she is now."

It was like a moment in a movie, one of those damn clichés that you _know_ doesn't happen in real life because fate doesn't work that way, but as soon as he pointed she could follow the line of sight straight through the parting crowd and it was like she'd developed tunnel vision for all she could see. The couple was good looking, he was dark-skinned and broad shouldered and she was, well, she was-

"Damn," Santana blinked. The girl was blonde, lithe-limbed and gorgeous with long legs made longer every time she turned and her white skirt flipped upwards. He moved in time with the beat, his hips smooth and his back straight but he could have been standing still for all the attention he was getting dancing next to her. She was musicality personified, the beat thrummed through her body and radiated outward until it shown through in her every motion.

"I know, right?" she was forced back into her own head when Mike nudged her side with his elbow. "White girl can shake it, huh? Come on, let's get you settled and we can show her some _real _moves."

"Yeah, okay," she nodded but didn't move her feet because in that moment the blonde was sweeping the crowd with her eyes and did a double take to where Santana was standing. A smile erupted on her face, one that didn't match the way she was dancing but no matter which way she turned she tried to keep her eyes on the darker girl and Santana smiled.

Blue eyes, Brittany had blue eyes.

* * *

><p>Thoughts? I know I'm dragging this out like none other, thanks for bearing with me. Ya'll are the best.<p>

Also, I caved and set-up (got?) a tumblr but I'm having issues. I'm a geek, right? And I worked in an arcade for like five years (part of high school and college) so I can fix games and computers and the like but programming? Ef that. So follow me or be my friend or what-have-you, but you know, you should because, uh, I wrote this for you? wit-b-yond-measure . tumblr . com

**your. kat.** you make me feel such feely feelings. and you pick up on all of my subtle plot points, including the ones i haven't written yet. legit magical :P**  
>DeathByRainbowUnicorn.<strong> good distraction most definately! lol thanks for the review :)**  
>besmart. <strong>I like those too :) I have a sweet tooth, which apparently you do as well. I like an awkward Santana, it give me warm fuzzies. And don't get me wrong, I like Quinn she's actually one of my fav's on the show but _someone_ had to be the bad guy and she has the dynamic. Plus I love Brittana way too much. And I do what I can. Hope you continue to enjoy. thanks for the review**  
>meatisadelicacy. <strong>I don't know. You're such a slacker. jk jk jk, thanks for taking the time to read _and_ review! Please continue to enjoy!**  
>PLLgleefan11.<strong> well hello there! I must say I've missed seeing your name! Won't lie though Damaged was my baby so I'm glad you liked it :) Hopefully this turns out as well as Damaged and takes less time lol. Thanks for the review and the Brittany love  
><strong>DeadFlash27.<strong> yes? no? did it meet your expectations? I hope so. Thanks for the review :)**  
>LunarMiko07. <strong>:) I love your enthusiasm, thank you**  
>Kaede Shinomori.<strong> the stars will align! uh, lol, wut? thanks :)**  
>Toasty.<strong> mmmm salsa. thanks now I want chipotle ;p It's okay though, happens to the best of us lol thanks for the review :)**  
>Blueskkies.<strong> I know, right? Finally! I feel like this is taking forever... wait... :P thank you**  
>Gongo.<strong> well, thank you soooo much for giving me a second chance :D And congratulations! And thank you!  
><strong>Bat-Ninja-Kitty.<strong> :sing-song: I don't know! guess you'll just have to read to find out! lol**  
>boredsenseless2.<strong> aw, shucks :blushes: thank you :) honestly I'm just so critical of my own work that it's rare that I'm totally happy with anything I write but you've made me feel all very warm and fuzzy. thank you for the review :)  
><strong>wkgreen.<strong> change? what makes you think that? lol thanks for the review :)**  
>xvolcom11x. <strong>VOLCOM! Ol' buddy, ol' pal! How the hell are you! Glad to see you on this side, and the World of Glee Fanfiction welcomes you! Or at least I do, on it's behalf. Don't worry, if this SON movie is legit, I'm sure I'll jump back there for one or two more. Thanks for the epic review and I'm _seriously_ excited to hear what you think about what I've got so far! And hey, don't go changing on my account. I rather enjoyed your colorful reviews and I hope to see them continued lol :P


	8. In Which We Say Hi

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

So an update on the coffee front. I haven't bought a new machine, but I've made friends with the barista at my local Starbucks. Now I just walk in and pout and she rolls her eyes and starts my coffee. I kind of like it.

* * *

><p>Brittany let her eyes trail after the tan girl even after Mike had regained her attention enough to lead her to their table at the far end of the club. When she finally disappeared into the crowd the blonde pulled away from her dance partner and began to make her way through the packed floor in the same direction. Behind her, Matt was already two steps into the next move before he even realized he'd been abandoned, his look of confusion lasted long enough to trail her through the quickly moving couples on the floor and with a rueful shake of his head he followed at a more relaxed place.<p>

If the blonde was at all concerned about the boy she'd left behind, however, it didn't slow her stride or break the bubble of excitement that filled the spare between her lungs. It wasn't until she was within a dozen feet of the girl she'd spent countless hours on the phone with over the last couple of months that she was forced to stop if only because her feet simply wouldn't move.

She must have tried to imagine what Santana looked like close to a thousand times, but a face to go with the husky tenor of her laugh, or the warmth in her greetings, or even the harsh snap of her voice when she was upset that _always_ faded into a soft, scratchy apologetic rumble had been impossible to conjure. And faced with the girl now, here, she was beginning to understand why. Even if she'd pictured the most beautiful woman in the world with soft dark hair and eyes like liquid fire she wouldn't have been close, not by a long shot.

Matt's hand on the small of her back and his breath on the side of her neck startled her too much because the boy was about as stealth as a 747 and it only meant she'd been _that_ lost in her own head. She flushed embarrassedly at being caught staring when he chuckled knowingly. "That's Santana, huh?" he spoke softly into her ear to which she could only nod slightly in confirmation. "Damn," he hummed, "That girl is-"

"Yeah," she cut him off, not sure exactly what he was going to say, but from his tone she knew she was going to both agree and not like the sound of it passing his lips. Jealousy was as foreign an emotion to her as calculus was a usable skill so the frown she directed at the dark-skinned male was as troubling as it was new.

Of course, while she was trying to organize the thoughts and emotions tumbling roughshod about her mind she completely missed the look Mike was shooting her while Santana awkwardly made 'just-met' small talk with Tina. The hand Matt's had resting on her back gave a little shove and she was propelled into action just as the deliciously tanned girl turned a nervous smile in her direction. The muscle in her chest stuttered through a beat and she let her face relax into its natural smile as anything requiring legitimate thought was just beyond her when those warm brown eyes locked onto her own blue ones.

"Hi," Santana spoke first, little more than breathing the word and letting it hang there in the space between them. The sound of it was lost in the hum of the music that Brittany could hear just over above the pounding of her own heartbeat, but the blonde had memorized the rise and fall of the other girl's voice and didn't really need to _hear _for it to resonate.

The Latina watched her, all too aware of the odd tension pulsing between her shoulder blades and how it made the air feel heavy. If she had thought the girl was beautiful from afar then she was just that much more at a distance where Santana could just reach out and touch her.

Pale eyelashes fluttered and Brittany took another step forward and the darker girl could visibly tell that Brittany was coming back into the present. It was when the light flush stole across the blonde's face staining her cheeks pink and giving her an appearance that could be interpreted oh-so many ways that Puck's voice echoed across her consciousness and the image of Brittany pressed up against a wall -head thrown back with her cheeks flushed _just that way_-overtook her before she had the chance to clamp down on it.

Her whole body thrummed and pulsed at that moment and she was just so dazed by her own reaction that when Brittany finally made it to her, raising her arms to greet her, hug her, _touch_ her in some manner, the tension slipped from her shoulders to her stomach and she flinched unintentionally. But all the blonde could saw, felt, remembered was the stiffening of the other girl's body and her adamant declaration of heterosexuality, and for the first time in her memory she felt that creeping uncertainty change the way she made her approach. Instead of embracing Santana she let her hand fall to the Latina's forearms and gave them a gentle squeeze, awkwardly she paused and watched the other girl glance down to where they touched. "Hi," she murmured and let her hands fall.

Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you were looking at the situation) no one else in the group was all too keen on calling out the shift in the atmosphere so when Matt pushed his way in next to Brittany and offered Santana his hand and a charming smile, Mike heaved a sigh of relief. Except that Brittany was glaring at the back of the dark-skinned boy's head and Santana's smile looked forced enough to pull a muscle, and the Asian boy was beginning to get the feeling that there was a lot more going on there than he had been prepared to deal with.

"Uh, T?" he asked out of the corner of his mouth, but she was already brushing past him with her hand raised in dismissal.

"Already on it," she called over her shoulder as she took Brittany by the curve of her elbow and shouted over the music, "We're getting shots!"

Santana watched the two of them wander away until her vision was obscured by Matt and his wide, shy smile. But there was no spark within her except a mild buzz of annoyance, and not even the handsome gleam in his dark eyes or the strength in his handshake was enough to distract her from the way her arms sill tingled where Brittany had touched her.

!

At the bar, Brittany was the one that put in the order and when the guy behind the counter smiled and winked at her she crossed her arms over the bar and leant in enticingly and Tina marveled at the way she was able to just turn it on and off. It had taken more than a few weeks to get used to the way the blonde interacted with people, light touches and smiles that bordered on the flirtatious were given out generously to _everyone_ and there were still times when Brittany's general lack of personal boundaries made her a tad more than a little uncomfortable. But that time getting to know the girl's mannerisms was enough to figure out that she was also the most genuinely friendly person the gothic girl had ever met.

Brittany never even blinked at Tina's style of dress, or the music she listened to, or the art on her walls. She just threw her arms around the smaller girl the first day they'd met and wanted to know _everything_ about her. It wasn't what she had expected when she found out she was rooming with a blonde, former cheerleader, dance major, but in the end she'd come to discover what everyone apparently knew intrinsically. It was really hard not to love Brittany.

When the bartender turned away to grab the shot glasses, Tina watched Brittany's face slip into a frown and her eyes dart down to her arms. "Britt?" she asked gently, touching her fingers to the blonde's bare shoulder, "You okay?"

The blonde shrugged her shoulder up once and turned to look at the other girl. "I don't know, T. It feels tight," she curled her fist and touch her knuckles to the space between her breasts, "right here. What does that mean?"

Tina frowned and ghosted her hand over her friend's cheek, "I don't know, sweetie."

Brittany hummed and before Tina was ready for it, the blonde was all bright eyes and smiles once more just in time for the man behind the bar to set three too full shots in front of her. Tina took one while the blonde plucked the remaining two from the bar and handed one of them back to the bartender, while holding the other up in salute. "To life," she grinned as he laughed and touched the glass to hers. She nodded to Tina and they took the shot together, but all Tina could see was the way Brittany had curled the fingers of her free hand around her thumb. The blonde didn't have many tells because she rarely had anything to hid, but that one was the most blatant one Tina knew about and it never meant anything good.

!

When they made their way back to the table it was to Mike sitting by himself and at Tina's prompting he pointed out on the dance floor where Matt was leading Santana in a slower paced danced than he'd just been dancing with Brittany, but with enough speed to indicate they both knew a little of what they were doing. The blonde watched them for a moment but it wasn't until Mike curled his fingers around her elbow that she realized just how focused on the pair she was.

"Bright Eyes?" he started to question, but she brushed him off lightly with a shake of her head. She turned to walk away and he was just a step behind her, words bubbling on his tongue when another club patron saw the opening and asked her to dance. Brittany agreed with a smile, glad for the distraction and her partner had to bite the tip of his own tongue before he said anything else. He stood there with a frown on his face as he watched Brittany being lead onto the floor, looking down only when Tina stepped up next to him. "Is there something going on that I should know about?"

The gothic girl waited until Brittany was on the floor and waited for the moment when the blonde glanced in the direction of where Matt was dancing with Santana, and just as she looked away and focused on the man she was dancing with, the Latina looked up to find the Brittany. "Not yet," she shook her head, and poked him hard in the side, "but if you don't ask your girlfriend to dance soon, there _will _be something you need to worry about going down right here, right now."

"Yes ma'am," he laughed and folded her hand within his and lead her out onto the floor.

!

Santana was having a fine time dancing with Matt. He was a good partner, competent and smooth, but his movements were cautious at best. It was like he was unsure of her skill and worried that she wouldn't be able to move with him if he tried anything faster or like he didn't want to push her too far, too fast. It was kind of grating on her nerves. True, her strength wasn't in salsa, she'd taken more hip-hop than anything else growing up, but taking a look around she realized that a majority of the people in the club weren't anymore concerned with technique than she was and by that time it had basically dissolved into any other club scene she'd ever been a part of, more grinding than actual "dancing".

But she stuck it out with him for several songs, if only because it only took one warning look for him to control wandering hands and she didn't think another guy would be quite so easily trained. That and he didn't try making small talk so all she had to do was make sure his feet didn't tumble over hers and she could divert the rest of her attention on keeping an eye out for Brittany.

She wasn't sure what it was about that initial meeting that was throwing her so far off kilter, but it was like that sinking feeling you got when you made it to the bus stop just in time to watch the bus pull away. She didn't like it. And she didn't like the way Brittany was dancing with that guy. It was unnecessarily close and-

A finger tapped her on the shoulder and she was pulled from her thoughts with a start. Blinking, she realized she could no longer see her blonde friend because her view was obscured by the thin frame of Mike. "Oh," she flinched backed, nearly falling back into Matt.

"Mind if I cut in?" the Asian boy smirked and offered his hand to her. She glanced over her shoulder at the guy she was dancing with, but he had locked eyes with Mike.

After a pause he shook his head with a half-hearted laugh, thanked Santana for the dance and melted backwards into the crowd. She turned back to Mike as he took her hand and spun her quickly into a dance. "I hope I didn't read that wrong and you actually needed saving."

"No, it was-" she stopped herself and looked at him suspiciously, but his twinkling eyes gave away little. "He's fine," she felt like she needed to explain. "Except that-"

"He hesitates," he laughed again and continued on, twisting and turning her about like he knew what he was doing.

"Something like that," she agreed and flowed into the dance. Mike was obviously the better dancer of the two, his steps more sure and his strength in the push and pull just right, but it still felt like he was stepping just out of sync with her.

They were starting in on another song when he pulled her closer, holding her right hand aloft in his left and settling his other palm high on her waist, and lead her in a quick step that she was barely following. "Honestly," he hummed close to her ear, "and if you tell her I told you this I'm going to deny it with my dying breath, Brittany would probably be the best to dance with. If you close your eyes and feel it in the beat, girl's got the hips of a Latin goddess and she's wicked good at matching her partner's skill in, like, four beats."

"But," her eyes darted up to him and when they connected with his dark gaze directed at her she glanced back down, teasing him into spinning her, "I can't dance with her. She's a-"

"She?" If he kept laughing like that, Santana was fairly certain she was going to drive the heel of her boot into his toes. "So?" he dipped her then and when her vision focused, upside down nonetheless, she was greeted with the sight of Brittany and Tina dancing face-to-face with ridiculously goofy expressions on their faces. They were in the same position Mike and her had been in moments ago, but where Mike's hand had been at a respectable height, Brittany's was splayed across the smaller girl's hip with her thumb tucked into the waistband of her black pleated skirt. They moved back and forth like they'd been dancing together for years

Santana blinked and Mike tugged on her hand, bringing her back upright. When the vertigo passed he was looking down at her even when she spun around to watch the two girls continue to dance together. "That doesn't bother you?" she asked, surprised. She had never dug the jealous type, Puck being as close to it as she'd ever gotten but that was less jealousy and more like he didn't enjoy sharing, Mike didn't really seem the type but the way they were moving together, free and almost sensually, she thought he would have _something_ to say about it.

She could think of a few things she wanted to say about it.

"Should it?" he asked rhetorically, and instead of trying to pull her back into the dance she felt him sling an arm over her shoulders and direct her to the table, stopping only to order two beers from a passing waitress (Dos Equis because it was still Cuban night and it was the closest one he could think of). "Britt thinks you have a problem with the gay thing," the dancer started in without preamble once the drinks were in front of them.

"What?" The Latina choked on her sip, coughing and sputtering to clear her airway. "Why would she think that?" she practically hissed, glancing over even though she knew logically that there was no way Brittany could have possibly heard that.

Mike was back to smiling, but it was shaded with a touch of sadness even as he shrugged. "Maybe because you have a problem with the gay thing?" he suggested sarcastically. She narrowed her eyes at him and growled lowly at the back of her throat, seconds away from letting loose a verbal torrent questioning _why everyone thought she was fucking homophobic_, but the way he watched her calmly had her grinding her back teeth to squelch the urge. "I'm not attacking you," he told her once she had herself under control, "I'm just pointing it out. You freaked when you thought she was asking you out, you've told her more than a dozen times that you aren't gay, and when she tried to hug you, you choked." He shrugged and took a long pull from the drink, "s'all I'm sayin'."

It felt peculiar, having someone she just met calling her out so evenly. No judgment or accusations, just stating fact. She blinked and without meaning to she turned back to the dance floor, finding Brittany without even trying, and propped her chin up on her fist. "I've never had a friend like her before," she confessed to him quietly. "It's not the 'gay thing'," she laughed and twisted her neck to look at him once more, "Seriously, I think it's just a _Brittany _thing."

It didn't really make sense to her, not even as it passed her lips but it felt right saying it and he was nodding like it made sense to him, so maybe it was what she meant to say after all. Except there was the flash of Puck's suggestion hovering in the forefront of her imagination and the way Brittany was twisting about, flashes of skin peaking out whenever she turned, certainly wasn't helping that.

"This is the thing about Brittany," Mike leant on his forearms over the table and poked at her arm to ensure he had her entire focus. "She'll be your biggest fan, your strongest supporter, and the best friend you'll ever have. Hands down, no questions asked. But, and this is the important part," he beckoned her closer with one finger and when she was within a certain ranged he quirked his eyebrows and stared her straight in the eyes. "_You have to let her hug you_." He sat back in his seat with a large wave of his hand, "It's the first step, small, but the most crucial. After that?" he shrugged his shoulder and floated his hand flatly in front of his body, "it's all smooth sailing, baby."

"Except," she objected out tipping the lip of her beer bottle at him as if to prove the point, "I already screwed that up."

He waved her concern off airily, "So ask her for a second chance. Trust me, she wants it to work, she'll give you as many as you need."

"Yeah?" she asked, just to be sure.

He winked at her and tapped the tip of his drink against hers resulting in a nice _ping_ and making her break out into a relieved grin.

"You aren't scaring her are you, Mikey?" the voice Santana would recognize anywhere sounded behind her and the Latina had to smile at the timing.

Mike feigned an insulted look and held his hand to his chest dramatically, "Moi? I should think not!"

Tina shook her head and stole his drink, sniffing at it daintily, "Gross. I don't understand how you can drink this stuff."

"Not all of us can do straight shots," he stuck his tongue out at her.

She tugged at him until he stood, "Come on, boyfriend, you owe me _at least_ one more dance."

Santana thought that once they were gone Brittany would simply take Mike's seat, but the blonde surprised her by dragging the chair closer to the Latina and sitting so their knees almost touched. "Having fun?" the lighter girl asked, voice strong but her nerves showing when they began tearing at the label of the other girl's drink.

Santana smiled fondly at the action, "Yeah actually I am."

"Good," she breathed, "That's good 'cause I was worried and…" She trailed off weakly and refused to even glance in Santana's direction, choosing to keep her gaze outward.

_Now or never_, she thought, hand raised over Brittany's she hesitated once more. _Mama didn't raise no coward_, she steeled herself and let her fingers lay across Brittany's wrist.

And nearly jumped at the shock of it.

Wide blue eyes were boring into dark brown and it didn't even matter what Santana had planned to say, or if she had a plan at all, because being this close had completely robbed her of her senses and she was only aware of Brittany. She could only see ocean blue, smell the vanilla of her perfume, hear the bounding of her heart and feel smooth skin beneath her fingertips. She could taste the word on the tip of her tongue.

"Hi."

She felt the heat in her cheeks and the tension in the back of her neck from the effort of not ducking her head but that all meant nothing at the slow smile spreading across Brittany's lips. "Hi."

They smiled at one another for a beat, and then another and then one more.

Then Brittany was on her feet and Santana was feeling an acute sense of loss until she realized that the blonde was standing right in front of her, hands hovering just over her biceps. "I'm going to hug you now, okay?" she warned and all Santana could do was nod and half stand before Brittany's arms were around her and the Latina found herself just sort of _falling _into the taller girl.

"Oh," she exhaled when she stood fully and suddenly she could feel every curve of the blonde's body pressed tightly against her own. She wondered at it for a fraction of a second, how the girl could be made of so many soft curves and solid muscles and Santana had never been much for hugging but _damn_ she could get used to this.

A fraction of a second to think meant a fraction not to move and Brittany must have read it as discomfort because she was loosening her hold quickly and was a heartbeat away from letting go completely when Santana was driving into action. She wasn't about to make that mistake twice.

Brittany grinned crazily when she felt arms around her middle and hands fisting the material of the back of her top. She laid her cheek against the side of Santana's head and breathed in deeply, letting it out with a laugh. "Dance with me," she implored, leaning back to look into deep eyes, smiling even more (if it were possible) at how the darker girl slid her hands to rest along the top of her hips.

Santana blinked and didn't even think about it. "Okay," she agreed, and wondered if she'd ever be able to say no to those eyes. It wasn't a thought she entertained for long, though, when Brittany's pinkie slid through hers and gave a pull, dragging the non-resisting girl behind her and onto the dance floor.

In the middle of the floor, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of other couple that didn't bat an eye at the newest addition, Brittany spun her quickly, pulling her back so that the smaller girl fell into her completely, ever ounce of her weight supported by the blonde. "Ready?" she laughed, waggling pale eyebrows.

Yeah, Santana was _so_ ready.

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><p>Thoughts?<p>

I'm soo sleepy! Zzzzzzzzz

Thanks to everyone who is following me on Tumblr :D and for those of you asking me questions ha, that's a lot of fun. wit-b-yond-measure . tumblr . com

So, I wanted to get this up which meant no replies to your _beyond fantastic reviews_, but I might just start doing that privately. I haven't decided yet. But that means if you don't have a log in I STILL LOVE YOU JUST AS MUCH AND YOU SHOULD STILL REVIEW BECAUSE I LOOOOOOOVE YOU!


	9. In Which We Dance

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

I'm going to be in Philly for a few days and while I'll have my laptop on me, internet access will be shoddy at best. So, I wanted to get _something_ out before I left. I apologize if this isn't up to my normal caliber (lol, like I _have _caliber) but please enjoy. Also, I've re-written this like fourteen times and it's just, ugh. I don't even know. I'll be better next time.

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><p>Brittany was a dancer. That much was obvious when the music was pounding and the beat was infectious and she just couldn't stop her body from moving. But it's when dancing bleeds into the basis of your very existence, when it invades every aspect of your life, the way you walk, talk and breath, the way you eat, study and sleep, how you interact with people, how you see them and how they perceive you that you realize just how much of your life hinges on that identifier. She danced when music played and she danced when it wasn't. She danced to the radio with her mom in the kitchen, her dad in the den, and her sisters in the basement. She danced with Quinn whenever the opportunity arose, but when time marched on those opportunities grew further and further apart. Quinn was suddenly concerned with her image and how twirling about in the halls between class set her apart from the others in their school. But it was okay, Brittany danced enough for the both of them.<p>

When she was small she'd taken so many different styles of dance that they all sort of pooled together in a blur of movement that she remembered as her childhood, but it hadn't really fazed her, nothing at the time ever really did. Her parents had recognized the talent and wanted to nurture it. They were just trying to do right by her, in the best way they knew how. It's what parents did. It wasn't their fault, that it somehow, slowly that morphed into who she was to them. It became how they saw her, how they introduced her to others. It was always, "_This is our daughter, Brittany, the dancer_."

She didn't mind, not then. Pierces' were firm believers in giving credit where credit's due, and she was good. So you take what you're giving and you run with it, make it your own. "_She's a genius on the dance floor, a true artist_," they would say, and it made her feel brilliant in a way she never had before. No one was lining up to call the girl a genius, her comprehension had always been several levels below other children her age, so the first time it popped up, she'd latched onto it and never let go.

Her eldest sister, Aubrey, doesn't think that they'd done it intentionally, encouraging a certain skill set in each of their four daughters until all other talents were stifled out and they were only recognized by that particular moniker. Brittany wasn't exactly sure what all of it meant, but she was willing to believe it just because 'Bre was to one to say it. She was the smart one after all, not Brittany.

Brittany was the artist, the _dancer_.

And she was fine with that, ecstatic even, because she loved to dance and it made her happy and if that was going to be the rest of her life then she was set. But the problem with turning the thing you love the most into the _only _thing you do is that eventually it stops being fun and starts to become a chore. Even the other activities she was involved in, cheerleading and glee, revolved around the way she moved. Motocross had been a nice reprieve while she'd been allowed to do it, but when her parents finally clued into how dangerous it could be they'd made her stop, not wanting her to risk her chances of getting into a good dance program.

She was sixteen when she first learned the word resentment.

It was near the end of her their sophomore year and Quinn had already begun looking into colleges and talking about the future and what they were going to do with the rest of their lives. Quinn had always been a planner, someone who had each step figured out, and it was something Brittany had admired in her even if she thought it took a lot of the fun out of things, but that was the way Quinn was and Brittany adored Quinn. And the little thrill she got whenever the words "we" or "our" or "us" passed the smaller girl's lips were a rather nice bonus. She'd been so caught up in listening to her voice and wondering what would happen if she'd just reach out and brushed back the wisps of hair that had fallen across her eyes that Quinn had to repeat the question twice before the lighter blonde actually caught it.

"What about you, B?"

"What about me, what?" she questioned absentmindedly, mentally counting the flecks of gold in Quinn's hazel eyes.

"What do _you _want to do with your life?" she smiled patiently, years of knowing the other girl made her distractible nature more endearing.

Brittany remembers frowning, she remembers feeling like the air had been sucked out of the room and her neck getting hot like when she was singled out in a classroom to answer a question the teacher _knew _she didn't know. It was the first time she'd been asked that, ever. "Dance," she'd replied after a beat, flopping backwards on the onto the bed the two of them had been spread out over. Quinn must have accepted the answer, or expected it, because she went right on without pause and it was never brought up again. But it stuck with Brittany.

It was obvious, right? It wasn't like she had other talents or abilities to fall back on like Quinn did. She wasn't smart, not in the way that mattered to people, and she didn't have a world of possibilities open to her. She danced and everyone knew it.

_So why ask?_

It was a question that had plagued her for weeks, made her despondent and withdrawn, or as despondent and withdrawn as Brittany had ever gotten. And then it made her angry because for the first time she'd realized that dancing really was her only option and the worst part of being trapped in a prison was realizing that you'd built the walls yourself. She started to hate dancing then. Hate it to the point where she almost blew off the summer program in New York that she'd gotten into and resign herself to a summer of hopelessness and despair.

Katie was the one to talk her out of it. Her second eldest sister, Kaitlyn Rose, was the charismatic, confident one whose silver tongue had gotten her out of more scrapes than any of the other Pierce girls had ever been involved in, combined. Only a year older than Brittany, she was entering her senior year and had probably wanted the younger girl out of the house so that she wouldn't be forced to hang out with her all summer, but Brittany would be forever grateful for it. It was that program that introduced her to Mike Chang and reintroduced her to her love of dance. Mike was a breath of fresh air that had come from a place where he'd only ever danced inside his room and had taken lessons when his parents thought he was at football practice. He had never been encouraged until that summer and his excitement was enough to bring the blonde out of her funk and make her reconnect to dance and music.

They spent almost every minute of that summer together, causing trouble, enjoying life, learning technique and _dancing_. He reminded her that it wasn't about what having other viable skills, or whether or not she made it. It was about how she felt when she moved, how the music _changed_ her, what it turned her into. All that mattered was who she was when she danced and if that was who she wanted to be all the time, for the rest of her life, then she didn't need other options.

Coming back from that summer presented an entirely new Brittany. This one had a goal, a focus. She had a plan for the first time in her life, and a desire to make it a reality. For better or for worse, it changed everything.

Dancing, while reclaiming its place as her greatest joy, was both a means and an ends now. It became an escape too, especially when things got weird with Quinn and glee, and then a release when they got uncomfortably heavy. And when things got really bad and she was beginning to feel like she was losing control she or Mike would make the hour and forty five minute drive between Lima and Columbus and they'd find some place where they could turn the music up all the way and just dance it out. She was thoroughly convinced that if she wasn't all about boobs, he would be her soul mate. She could dance with anyone, but he was the first person she ever felt absolutely matched to and for the last two years she was okay with that.

And then she started dancing with Santana Lopez.

The two of them flowed together, moving passed, around through one another in total sync. Brittany had danced with a lot of people over the course of her life but never, not even with Mike, had it felt like this. She didn't have to try and match the smaller because she was already _there_, step for step, note for note. There was no second guessing, no break, just movement. Brittany could read every motion in her hips and eyes and hands and smile for the first time since she started dancing at four-years-old, Brittany couldn't hear the music. She didn't need to.!

Mike told her that Brittany could match anyone in four beats but she thought his perception must be off because even the first step they'd taken after Brittany relinquished her footings back to her had been faultless. The blonde moved rapidly, using just the right amount of force to push the Latina out and then draw her back in and if the darker girl was ever on the verge of feeling unsure Brittany was right there, guiding her with hips and hands and whispered words of encouragement, cutting that feeling off at the pass. It only took a song and a half for even those hints to become unnecessary, but seeing as Santana wasn't complaining Brittany didn't feel the need to stop the actions.

Song after song, dance after dance they moved together, bodies getting closer, spins getting tighter, hands wondering lower and Santana knew that that almost drunk like feeling of euphoria was entirely Brittany's fault because she'd barely had half a bottle of beer what felt like a lifetime ago. The blonde was simply intoxicating, clouding her senses until nothing but her could be perceived. Every other person in the over crowded club faded from existence because being that close to the girl, with pale hands ghosting over the curve of her hips and lithe legs twisting elegantly between her own giving the faint impression of pressure, was making it difficult to breath let alone give a fuck about other people.

They stopped moving several times, once long enough to grab bottles of water from the bar and a couple more times whenever they were approached by other club goers asking to cut in with one of them (or one very ambitious man, both). Brittany tried to make it clear to the Latina that she was free to switch partners if she wanted to, and tried not to look too much like a puppy with its favorite toy being tugged at, but every time Santana would just roll her eyes, grin and retake the blonde's hand, without even sparing a glance at the would-be interloper to which Brittany would shrug apologetically and let her herself be lead back into a dance.

!

It was rounding last call when Tina found the two of them sitting opposite one another back at the table with Santana's feet propped up in Brittany's lap, head thrown back in laughter and her shoes abandoned on the floor next to them. "Hey," she grinned at the darker girl, curling her forearms around Brittany's shoulders and rested her cheek against the blonde's. "I thought we'd be dragging the two of you off the floor when the lights came on."

"That was the goal," Brittany laughed and gave Santana's toes a gentle squeeze as Tina stepped to a chair on the other side of them, "but some drunk guy pretty much threw his girlfriend into San and kind of broke our stride."

"Bitch ground her heel into my toes," she crossed her arms and pouted until Brittany wiggled her fingers under her arches and forced a smile to her lips. "I totally woulda kicked her scrawny ass, 'cept Britts was holding me back," the darker girl added to Tina and stuck her tongue out at the blonde.

"More like held you up," the dancer grinned back.

Santana wrinkled her nose and looked to the other girl at the table. "Legit though, I totally could of taken her."

"Totally," Brittany agreed and punctuated it with a faux-fierce nod. "She's got razorblades in her weave," she supplied helpfully from the corner of her mouth to Tina, prompting a giggle from the gothic girl and a light kick from Santana, even as she laughed full-bodily.

Tina just rolled her eyes at the two of them, glad that the odd tension from earlier had dissipated and that they were now getting along like they'd known each other their whole lives. "I take you guys are ready to head out then? Mike's settling the tab, but he's still wired so we were thinking coffee."

"Where's Matt?" Brittany asked, hunching over Santana's feet to grab her heels.

The Asian girl quirked an eyebrow, "He left like an hour ago with the redhead he'd been dancing with since Mike took Santana from him."

The blonde's mouth formed an 'o' but she didn't look terrible upset by the news. "What do you say, San? You wanna come with?" she asked, locking the buckle on her right heel. "Or we could totally drop you off at your dorm if you're tired or whatever."

It was Tina that noticed the flush that stole over Santana's cheeks, and tilting her head she watched Brittany's pale fingers tapping out a beat on the Latina's ankle. She felt her lips twitch, like she didn't know whether to smile or frown. What she _did _know was that there was going to be a very long heart-to-heart between her and Brittany very soon.

"Coffee sounds kinda great actually," the tan girl finally answered, just as Mike came up from the bar and bent slightly so that he could wrap an arm around Tina and Brittany each.

"All set ladies?" he asked and pressed a kiss to his girlfriend's temple.

Brittany tugged at his hand on her shoulder when she was done buckling the other shoe and Santana dropped her feet from the blonde's lap, "Just waiting on you, Chang."

"As it should be," he winked at her and offered a hand to Tina, proclaiming "To the car! Or I leave your behinds, behind!" before leading the way towards the front of the club.

Brittany shook her head, gaze skyward before offering both hands to Santana. "You good to walk?"

"Yeah," she slipped her hands into the blonde's and letting the taller girl pull her into a standing position. With a smile she held her arm out for Brittany to slip her own through and lock elbows, "He wouldn't actually leave us, would he?"

"Of course not," the blonde shook her head and then thought about it. "Probably not." She blinked and craned her neck to try and find her partner, but he was already lost to the thinning crowd. "But we should still hurry in an case."

!

Santana found herself creeping, as quietly as possible, into her dorm just after five in the morning. She laughed to herself, grinned really, and shook her head. Tina had spent the last two hours of the night trying to convince the tan-skinned girl that it was really Mike and Brittany that were the wild ones, but Santana could see the truth of it.

All three of them were insane and she fit right in with them.

Her phone vibrated demandingly in the pocket of her jacket and she grabbed it without a second thought. Having been dropped off moments before there really was only one person that it could possibly be.

_Thx 4 comin out 2nite. I cnt w8 2 c u again! xxx -B_

She hadn't stopped smiling in hours, and for the first time in her life, she didn't see herself stopping any time soon.

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><p>Thoughts? I LOVE YOU GUYS! S'all I got. You are all as fabulous as ever.<p> 


	10. In Which There Is An Inkling Of Emotion

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span> This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: oh. Oh, oh, oh! I am so _very_ sorry about how long this took! I just, I was dealing with stuff and then I was talking with people and then I was very, _very _distracted by, knowing me, something very shiny. The last time I posted I was about to go to Philly, no? Yes, my Uncle's. God love the man. When he drinks, lordy, his filter gets turned _all _the way down and, in between cutting the sleeves off my shirt (while I was wearing it) he made some rather off handed comments that put my head in a weird place and made me genuinely _think_. Which was a good thing, for me, I hope because it lead me to act out of character and actually _talk_ to people I wouldn't normally talk to. Which brought two very different people into my life that I hope will be there for a while. But I am sorry this took so long. Molly told me not to post until I was satisfied with what I wrote, but I don't think she thought it would take quite this long.

Hope you enjoy

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><p>Midterm week happened in much the way Santana assumed it would. There were extra hours huddled away in a lonely, moderately well lit corner of the library, a slight increase in her already dizzyingly high caffeine intake and that first inkling of '<em>holy-fuck-I-haven't-learned-anything' <em>that comes whenever any major test looms on the horizon. But other than that, once the study sheets had been put away, the papers turned in and the tests actually completed, it was much like any other week she experienced since the start of term in early September.

She still attended classes the same as before, still saw all the same people, still texted Brittany through nearly all of their shared free time. Still turned down Puck every time her called her mid-week to go out partying. Still rolled her eyes unimpressed whenever Quinn spoke to _either _of the girls she was somehow tricking into liking her.

In fact the only thing Santana thinks she's going to look back on as _different_ about that week is when her phone lit up for the first time with a picture of bright blue eyes and smiling lips when Brittany called her Tuesday afternoon after the blonde's own intro to sociology midterm. (It was also the first time her phone had ever rang with Shakira's _Hips Don't Lie_ and the subsequent first time she ever vowed to never let Mike play with it ever again.)

But it would stick out to her, that fluttering feeling in her chest and the almost painfully wide smile that stretched out across her cheeks, when she was asked later when it all started to hit her. Because _that_ was the moment. It wasn't the visceral dancing from the weekend before, it wasn't the way her palms started to sweat or her heart hammering in her chest when they first said hello face-to-face, it wasn't her first sight of the blonde, or hearing pet names slip like wet soap across the airwaves, or even hearing her _voice _for the first time and the way she was instantly at ease. It was that moment then, for the first time looking down, knowing who it was going to be, and _seeing_ the girl smiling up at her from the unfulfillingly small screen like she _meant _something. _That_ was altogether new and unexpected because Santana knew all about carnal pleasures, knew about how voices could be stimulants and about highs brought on by physicality, but what she didn't know until right then was how thrilled she could be about something as simple as a phone call.

Of course she didn't recognize it as such and it didn't stand out to her when it happened. She just answered the phone with the usual "_Hey Brit-Brit_" and went about the call like it was any other week.

!

It was a short conversation, just a quick catch up over things that probably could have been discussed in a text message, but for whatever reason Brittany had wanted to hear Santana's voice. It was like there was something soothing about the dark girl's raspy tones and sharp tongue, something that calmed the storm in her head, and made it easier to think. She figured she could probably listened to her for hours without ever growing bored, like listening to the ocean or rain on a window or traffic.

When Santana had to leave for her own class, Brittany couldn't help but notice that the darker girl said "_see you later_" instead of "_goodbye_" so with the goofy grin that the sentiment brought about she repeated it back and hung up. She liked the idea of seeing Santana again.

She paused and looked about her room, eyes skimming over the obvious differences between her bright but messy parts and Tina's meticulously ordered and much more subdued portions. There was probably a list of things she could be doing in at the moment -studying for her next test, or prepping for rehearsal the next night, or packing to go home for Thanksgiving- but she felt calm for the first time in weeks and she wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible.

Idly, she fiddled with the phone still in her hands, until she was skimming through the pictures she'd taken. The most recent ones were from Saturday night and were any combination of the four of them, although the number of ones that featured Santana far outnumbered any that didn't, and she gave a brief thought to posting them on the web but it was gone the further back in her digital memory cache she went. The next few were of her and Mike, with Tina popping up every once in a while, just after they'd moved into the dorms and were seeing the sights around NYC and almost all of them were of the two dancers pressed cheek-to-cheek and grinning like fools. She went further than that though and the more she dragged the tip of her finger across the touch screen the more she saw the familiar faces of all three of her sisters. Aubrey and her crystal blue eyes framed in thin black glasses, Kate's '_I know something you don't' _smirk, and Joey's stretched out frame that towered over all three of her older sisters.

Intermittent with the four other blondes, and only standing out because her eyes reflected darker light, was Quinn. She smiled softly and continued to move through the pictures at more sedate rate until it seemed that every photo she looked at featured her girlfriend prominently and then stopped on a particular shot.

There had always been something so absolutely fascinating about Quinn Fabray, something so utterly _perfect_ that Brittany had always felt a little out of breath around her. It was there in the twist of her lips and the steel in her eyes, something in the way she carried herself with such confidence and held herself to too-high standards even while she held the world at arm's length. But Brittany had gotten in early, had been there since skinned knees and baby teeth, and she'd gotten close enough to touch, close enough to _see_. And then when things changed and that avenue was closed to her she had moments like the one she captured on her phone months ago. Her finger and thumb twitched on the screen, zooming in slightly on the at-peace features of a sleeping Quinn.

The muscles in her chest tightened uncomfortably as the calm she was feeling is slowly replaced by the tiny niggling at the back of her head. It was a sort of distress that began when she woke up Sunday morning and crept slowly whenever she was left alone with her thoughts, like something was off in her own body. She felt it echo a bit when she closed the picture file on her phone and opened a new text, tapping out a message gingerly. Curious and a little put off, Brittany frowned at the words before hitting send.

She should be better at reading her own emotions (they were _hers_ after all) but this was just a little out of her league. Because Quinn had been part of her for so long that the other blonde was practically part of her identity, but what did it mean that her girlfriend was featured so far back in the memory of her phone and all her recent ingoing and outgoing texts were under the name **San**?

!

Mike tugged at the right side of his oversized headphones and glanced up from his notebook. Tina was pacing back in forth in front of him, arms crossed and her bottom lip caught thoughtfully between her thumb and forefinger. He kind of didn't want to address it, whatever it was that had her so in her own head. He wanted to stay out of it and pretend that she actually had come over to get some last minute studying in before their calc test. But he knew if he wanted to continue his streak as most awesomest boyfriend he had to ignore that survival instinct and stick his hand into the viper pit.

"Something on your mind, T?"

She continued to pace and his lips pressed into a frown. Now there were two ways this could be played. He could act like he hadn't said anything and continue on in blissful ignorance, or…

With a sigh he pulled the headphones off completely, letting the wide plastic strip rest against the back of his neck, and sat up. "T?" he asked a little louder, leaning into her line of sight and catching her gaze with his own curious one. "What are you thinking about, babe?"

"Lesbians," she replied absently, flushing when she realized what she'd said by the way his dark eyebrows tilted in response. Embarrassed by her own candidness, which she was willing to blame on sharing a living space with Brittany, she bit her knuckle to stop herself from making it worse by trying to cover it up.

But he just grinned at her, and the mad twitching of the corners of his lips told her exactly how hard he was working to keep from bursting out in laughter. After a beat he sat up completely and settled his feet on the floor. "Don't be embarrassed, T," he shrugged and swung his hand out to hold hers and confessed, "sometimes I think about lesbians too."

She threw him a dark look, but he was smiling in a manner that she could hardly be mad at so she settled for rolling her eyes at him and sitting down on the bed next at his side, nudging him sharply with her shoulder on the way. "Sorry," he pressed back playfully and when she finally smiled up at him he readdressed the question. "Now, is there a specific set of lesbians you have in mind or just lady lovin' ladies in general?"

Tina kind of wanted to laugh at the question, but she repressed the urge. There was level of formality she knew she had to use because the particular set of lesbians she was pondering involved Brittany. Because while Brittany was her friend and roommate on top of being the girl who hooked her up with Mike she was -first and foremost- Mike's _best _friend. And he was terribly protective of her. She tried to think of a delicate way to address her concerns, but gentle words eluded her then as they had for the past two days, and she dropped her shoulders and bit the bullet, "Brittany and Santana."

From the corner of her eye, Mike looked contemplative. "Definitely an interesting combination," he nodded, bringing a hand up to his face to stroke a nonexistent beard. "An interesting blend of light and dark, good contrast, and the hotness factor is off the charts. I wonder who would to-_oomph!_"

The gothic girl flexed her stinging fingers and knew that her backhand to his stomach probably hurt her more than him, but he made a nice show of pretending otherwise that she was grateful for. "Not what I meant," she stated lowly. And it wasn't. Well, not _entirely_ any way.

"Okay, okay," he grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together, "_what_ did you mean then?"

"What do you think's going on with them?" She brought her leg up on the bed and twisted to face him, "I mean, Britt says they're just friends and I know she has a girlfriend, but I was def feelin' some intense vibes at the club and-"

"No," he interjected quietly but firmly. He tugged at her hand, cupping it between both of his and brought it to his chest. "I really like you, and I'll be your friend _and _your boyfriend, but I'm not doing that, Tina."

She blinked at him, "Not doing what?"

"Gossiping," Mike shuddered his shoulders and gave an exaggerated wince, "Meddling."

"It's not meddling."

"Except that it is," he dropped her hand to the bed top and glanced longingly at the forgotten notebook on her other side. "B's my best friend," he told her like it was something she should already know. It _was _something she already knew. "_And_," he emphasized with a light squeeze of his hands, "if she says they're just friends, then I'm leaving it at that."

"Mike, come on, you _saw _them dancing together the same as I did. They were lost in each other, like nothing else existed. It was _beautiful_."

His lips quirked up at the corners almost involuntarily, "You're such a romantic."

"Am not," she grabbed his abandoned notebook with one hand and swung it at him. "I'm just pointing out the obvious."

He caught the swinging object and used it to pull her into him, stealing a quick kiss. "Do you want to know what I think is obvious?" She lifted a dark eyebrow in the affirmative. "Brittany moves. Like all the time. She doesn't stop. Have you noticed that?" Tina nodded, knowing the truth of it because it was one of the first things she'd noticed about the blonde after they'd moved in. "But when she was with Santana, when she talks to her, or even _about_ her, she calms down. She breaths differently. And Santana? You can tell by the lines on her face that she isn't used to smiling, but she could stop Saturday night. Did you see that too?"

The gothic girl could only nod, a little hypnotized by the low murmuring property of her boyfriend's tone.

"They're friends. And they might be really good for each other. But if you interfere and ask questions they aren't ready to answer then you could make it super awkward for them. Let them be friends, okay?" He waited until she nodded before leaning back in for another quick kiss. "Great. Can we _please _study now?"

Tina glanced around at the position they were in and pressed her lips at him, the look all the more intense by the dark quality of her lipstick, "Seriously?"

"Unless you can think of something else to occupy us for the next hour."

She grinned. There were, in fact, _several_ things she could think of.

!

Quinn rubbed at her temples with the pads of her middle fingers and closed her eyes. She took one deep, cleansing breath and, with a forced clearing of her mind, opened her eyes again and flipped her test booklet open to the first page. Movement to her right drew her attention away from double checking her answers as Rachel closed her own booklet with a flourish and a quick grin in the blonde's direction.

The tiny brunette reached for her bag leaning neatly against the leg of the lab bench they were sharing and Quinn found herself distracted for an entirely different reason as the thick pleats of her plaid skirt lifted along the back of barely tanned thighs. She swallowed heavily and forced herself to blink, if only to distract herself long enough to bring her attention back to the answer sheet in front of her.

She looked down just as the other girl shimmied her way out from the corner she was seated in and for a moment she thought she was in the clear until she felt the feather light touch of fingers gliding along her back wear it met the top of her chair. She shuddered involuntarily and like it was drawn by a magnet, up went her gaze. But the brunette appeared more practiced at keeping her eyes where they were supposed to be, and would appear that much more in control if it weren't for the fact she couldn't seem to stop the smile that stretched across her face.

Rachel exited the room without glancing back however and the former cheerleader gave a small sigh of relief, hoping that out of sight really did mean out of mind. Except that her back was beginning to tingle in a straight line where the Theatre major touched her, and she had the stray wonder if it would burn more without the barrier of cloth and by the time she looked back down at her work the words were swimming like the thoughts in her head and she knew she was fighting a losing battle.

She closed the book with a half hearted snap, gathered her things and walked to the front of the room. The smile she flashed at the TA moderating the test was one from her Cheerios arsenal and had the grad student flushing brightly. He attempted a wink in return as he took the testing material from her and she was well on her way out the door to roll her eyes and fish through her purse for her phone. She found it, nestled at the bottom and blinking with a new message. From Brittany.

She came to a complete stop in the middle of the hallway and tabbed the message open with a concerned frown, she couldn't recall the last time the taller blonde had texted her. She usually just called, choosing to leave voicemails whenever she knew Quinn was busy.

**hope ur week gon well ilu**

Her frown deepened and she felt the strain above the bridge of her nose as her eyebrows pulled together, but before she could tap the _call back_ icon she felt an arm slip through her own and Rachel was _right_ _there, _propelling her into moving forward. She blinked and drew back, startled. "You waited for me."

"Of course I did," she all but scoffs, almost offended that any action otherwise would be entertained as a possibility. "I thought it only proper that I offer to take you to dinner, to make up for the fact that I left you high and dry, as it were, Saturday night."

"Only proper?" Quinn repeated back, voice gravelly with her desire to repress laughter at Rachel's roundabout way of asking her out. Bright eyes looked at her through impossibly long lashes and her breath caught unintentionally. "Well, if it's only proper."

She pressed the red _end call_ button on the opposite side of the screen to close the open message and dropped the phone back into her bag. She could call Brittany back later.

!

The phone in her hand buzzed unexpected, still on vibrate from class earlier, and without opening her eyes she answered and brought it to her ear, " 'lo?"

There was shuffling on the other end, and indistinct voices in the distance and then, "Hey Britt."

"Hey," she relaxed further into the bed, "how was your test?"

"I rocked it, of course," the girl on the other end laughed, "but you won't believe what happened. This guy comes running in, like, half an hour after the start and, _hey_, wait... You're done for the day, right?"

"Um, yeah?" she answered, but the confusion in her voice made it sound like she was asking more than answering.

"I could totally do with getting off campus for a couple of hours. And I don't know, do you, uh, do you want to meet for dinner or something? I mean, you mentioned the other day that you were craving pizza and I know this place a couple blocks from your campus that has the best Hawaiian I've ever-"

"I can't believe you actually put pineapple on your pizza," the blonde interjected, laughing to herself at the mad rambling that poured from the other girl.

"Hey now," Santana defended deftly, "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Brittany reached up and covered her face with the flat of her hand, trying to contain the smile that felt etched there permanently. Hadn't she _just_ thought about wanting to she the Latina again? "You know? That sounds kinda perfect. But I'm not eating pineapples as a topping."

"Sure, Britt-Britt, whatever you say."

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

_You guys! So much genuine affection for all of you._


	11. In Which We Realize the First Mistake

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: Happy Brittana Day! Sorry it took so long. Life, you know? Also, distractions. But good ones. Ones I enjoy. It's a filler chapter, getting to the good stuff. Bear with me now. Oh dear, I need to go to bed.

* * *

><p>"What's going on with you, Q?"<p>

Her short nails slid against the smooth material of the helmet pressed between her hands and a bright spot of anger at the situation burned unnaturally in her chest. Usually she held a pretty tight rein on her emotions, but the low simmer she'd felt the entirety of her visit home hit her quickly, overpowering her in that moment there. Her patience had been worn thin and it was no longer enough to hold her together.

She felt trapped. Cornered even.

Quinn Fabray was many things, but a saint was not one of them. She snapped, throwing the protective equipment as hard as she could from her chest. On the other side of the motorcycle Brittany caught the helmet, startled, dropping her own in the process. She blinked down at the dark purple fiberglass in her hands and Quinn felt herself growing more angry at the flummoxed look on her girlfriend's face.

"Nothing!" she all but shouted and threw up her hands. "Nothing is going on with me! I have everything under control, okay? _God_," she breathed out heavily through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands went to her hair and even as she laced them along the back of her head in order to support herself her shoulders shook.

And as quickly as it came, the anger was gone and she was left feeling hollow and worse than she had in years. She knew if she looked up now there would be traces of hurt in the lines of Brittany's face, the taller girl never did respond well to a raised voice, so she kept her face averted until she could pull herself back together and deal with it. She waited, forcing even breaths, but it was taking longer than she was used to achieve that sense of calm. She tried to force it by counting, she counted her breaths, counted her heartbeats and then in the stillness of the air between them, she counted the steps Brittany took away from her. Her hands fell.

"I'm sorry," Quinn tucked one arm under the other and pushed her free hand across her face, almost surprised by the slick tears that she felt gathered at the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry," she repeated, swiping at her other eye but the footfalls never returned in her direction. It hurt in a way she didn't think it would so she waited until she could breath without it catching to look up. Brittany had settled herself some yards away, just on the edge of the small woods they'd stopped by, sitting with her legs bent and back against the solid truck of a tree. Quinn's helmet was cradled between her knees and it was in the way she pressed hers palms flat against the smooth surface that the other blonde could read how truly upset she was.

"Britt," she took a step towards the other girl and forced herself to stop when Brittany's hands tightened against the helmet. The crisp autumn air cut through her light jacket and left what felt like shards of ice between her vertebrae, "Britt, sweetheart, would you just look at me?" But the dancer didn't look up, she just continued to stare down into the clear visor of the protective gear in her hands like it held the answers Quinn was refusing to give her. The smaller girl tightened her fingers into fists and resisted the urge to shout out in frustration. This was not how it was supposed to go, with only one of her commitments to deal with, this break was supposed to be easy but things were cantering wildly out of hand and all she wanted in that moment was to go back in time and rewrite the last few days.

! Wednesday Morning !

Quinn stifled a yawn under her fist before rubbing the heel of her palm across her eyes in an attempt to force herself into a better state of consciousness. It was rounding seven in the morning and normally she would be wide awake at the time, but she'd spent half the night in a 24 hour diner with Rachel trying to get as much time in with the petite brunette before she returned to Lima for Thanksgiving break. It had seemed like a stellar idea at the time, seemed that way up until about a quarter after six when her alarm started to blare and all she wanted to so was chuck the clock overhand at the far wall.

She didn't of course, because doing so would imply that it wasn't a part of the plan and Quinn refused to let anyone, herself included, think that she didn't have every detail down to the second under her own control. Instead, she rolled out of her bed, grabbed the set of comfy clothes she'd set out the day before and headed for the bathroom, all the while ignoring the mad grumbling that leaked out from the lump of blankets that Quinn assumed was supposed to be her roommate. She didn't have the time to deal with Santana's shit this morning, she had a schedule to keep and for the next five days she had to be on the top of her game.

By the time she had made to the lobby of her dorm, one hand curled around the bag strap hanging off her shoulder and the other falling from her face to grab at the phone vibrating in the front pocket of her hoodie, the sun was rising and she was better prepared for what was about to happen. She tapped the open key and smirked at the message she found there.

**Come out, come out wherever you are… K**

Rolling her eyes, she closed the text, hiked her bag further up on her shoulder and made her way outside. The only vehicle she saw, however, was not the one she was expecting and for a moment she was stuck staring at her own reflection in the dark tinted windows of the what was probably the largest SUV she'd ever seen in her entire life. It was obscene and for a second Quinn was fully convinced it was some kind of joke, that the car she was actually waiting on was hidden somewhere in the shadow of this behemoth but then the window whirled down and there was the familiar smirk of Kate Pierce. She was leaning over the center console, grinning and waggling her eyebrows like a mad woman, "Ay Bay Bay."

Quinn quirked her eyebrow and dropped her bag to the sidewalk, "You have got to be fucking with me."

The blonde in the car threw back her head with a laugh and Quinn heard the lock click open, "Throw your shit in the back and get your ass in the car, Eeyore, we've got a long ways to go and you're wasting my daylight."

"Yeah, I've asked you to stop calling me that," Quinn raised her voice to be heard as she rounded the back of the frickin' _boat_ Kate was behind the wheel of and tossed her bag next to the ones that were already there.

She closed the hatch and made her way to the driver's door, tapping on the window with a knuckle until it rolled door automatically.

"Je-es?" the girl drew out oddly, earning her a wry look from Quinn.

"You realize how ridiculous you look, right? Because this school bus you're driving was designed for full grown people and I'm about ninety percent sure you're sitting on a phone book just so you can see over the steering wheel." It was only funny, perhaps, if you actually knew the girl and Quinn never could quite figure out how the genetics that produced five-ten Josephine, five-eight Brittany and five-seven Aubrey were also responsible for five-three Kaitlyn, but she only needed to know that it was true to use it as ammunition.

But Kate wasn't one to take _anything_ lying down, and it was something Quinn loved about Brittany's older sister. "Aww, _baby, _did the kitten go 'way to college and grow claws?" she reached out and cupped Quinn's cheeks with faux tenderness, "You're growing up!" Quinn crossed her eyes at the other girl and stuck out her tongue, making Kate laugh. But after a moment, her hold became a little firmer and Quinn righted her sight to see that the other girl's smile had turned from sarcastic to concerned, "You look worn thin, Eeyore."

"I'm fine, K," the standing blonde sighed and pulled her face from Kate's hold. Making sure to keep her eyes away, she opened the back door on the driver's side and climbed in while the other hummed in skepticism. "Let's just go get Brittany." Kaitlyn Pierce was notorious for being impossible to lie to and it likely stemmed from the fact she was the only Pierce who could lie with a straight face, but it also meant it was hard as hell to keep anything from her. If Quinn had any hope of making it through the break without Brittany's older sister calling her out for her indiscretion she was going to have to be a lot more careful.

"You can sit in the front, you know," Kate told her, twisting in her seat to watch the younger girl settle into the back.

But Quinn knew that whoever sat in the front was going to end up being responsible for entertaining Kate for her leg of the drive, which meant conversation and conversations with Kate never seemed to end well for the person on the other end of them. She was safer in the back. "I'll let Britt sit up front, give you two a chance to catch up," the buckle clicked and she turned a smile towards the front.

Bright blue eyes, the exact shade of her own girlfriend's, flicked across her face but it burned in a way Brittany's never had. "Uh-huh," Kate clicked her tongue and turned back, willing to give Quinn the benefit of the doubt. The vehicle eased into movement and golden-green eyes slid shut almost automatically as she felt the tension in her shoulders tighten just a smidgen. The exhaustion that had been hovering just over the crown of her head for since the first car ride _out _of Ohio was starting to catch up to her and in the plush backseat of the high-end SUV that she was certain she didn't want to know how Kate had procured it over whelmed her. She would have a fuzzy recollection of Kate handing her a blanket and a pillow, but the only thing for certain was that Quinn was asleep before they hit the main road.

!

Kate killed the engine and, after first ensuring that the girl in the back truly was passed out, exited the vehicle with just a _bit _of difficulty. She'd rather die than admit it though because she knew she would never hear the end of it from Quinn or Joey or her mother. Those three were so alike it was frightening, especially in their inability to just let something _go_. Gently closing the door, she started her ritual of patting down the outside of her jacket, feeling for the line of her lighter but remembered at the last second that she left her cigarettes in her bag for Brittany's sake.

And speaking of her younger sister…

Brittany came bounding out her building with an energy that the shorter Pierce had always thought unnatural for the morning, or any time of day really, but it was _Brittany _and Kate was always known to make exceptions when it came to her siblings. Plus, it was difficult to be anything other than upbeat around the girl when she was in happy mode. So when the dancer was steps away, her duffle bag being dropped to the ground in her excitement, Kate knew there was little more to do than just open her arms and laugh as Brittany's bear hug lifted her right off the ground.

"Oh, I've missed you, baby sister," she told her, wrapping her own arms tight around the other blonde's shoulders and taking the moment to realize how long she'd gone without hugging her.

Brittany set her back on her own feet and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, something that Kate knew her sisters did just because they could. "I've missed you, too, Katie," she pulled back and held the other girl at arms length, grinning at her with tired eyes.

"Good God, B," Kate pushed her fingers gently across her sister's face. There was just the hint of dark circles under her eyes and a strain at the corners of her mouth that the older girl had never associated with the dancer before, but she was smiling in a way that was all soul so even as Kate was wondering at the new lines there, she willing to wait for an explanation. Brittany was a Pierce through and through and she did things in her own time just like every one of her sisters.

Brittany pulled her sister's hand from her face and gave it a squeeze, "You're looking at me funny, K."

"I know," she grinned and squeezed her back, "You just look so grown up, sis, like a real college kid or some shit." Kate laughed when her younger sister blushed and moved back to grab her stuff from where she'd dropped it moments before.

"It's been, like, two month, K," they didn't need to be facing one another for the older know the expression on Brittany's face, the roll of her eyes was evident in her voice, "not two years."

"It's a mentality thing, Britty, and you've got college written all over you," she grinned at the taller blonde's back and when Brittany turned back around there was something troubled in the press of her lips. Kate wasn't the most patient Pierce by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew her sister and waited.

"Did you already get Quinn?" Brittany asked, pausing around the question to flick her eyes at the SUV sitting quietly at the curb. She didn't ask where it came from, or whose it was, or why she wasn't driving the shoddy little Dodge she'd left home in. The younger girl didn't like to waste time on questions she knew she wasn't going to get answers to and Kate had always been grateful for that quality in her sister.

She held out her hand for Brittany's bag, "Yeah, she's passed out in the back."

"Oh."

Kate watched from the corner of her eye as Brittany fiddled with her own fingers, twisting them around her thumb in her unsure gesture. Quietly she opened the back, tossed the piece of luggage in next to the others and closed it back up without taking her concentration off of her sister. "Everything okay, B?" she asked as she approached, but Brittany was staring at the dark back seat window with her old vacant expression and Kate had the feeling she was lost somewhere in her own thoughts. Knowing what it would take, she touched the tips of her fingers to the bend in Brittany's elbow and gave her a push hard enough to force her a step back, "You and the Quinn-tessential aren't fighting, are you?"

"What? No, why would you say that?" the surprise on Brittany's face was genuine but coupled with the weariness etched along her normally bright features was enough to put Kate on edge.

She could've said something, got it out there before they were too far along in the trip to turn back, but instead she shrugged and offered a half smile, "No reason, Cheerio, just thought I should ask. You know how 'Brey and Damian were after their first few weeks of college and I just wanted to know what I was in for, for this fifteen hour drive." And then she winced, hoping that Brittany wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying. Their eldest sister and her boyfriend hadn't made it through their first quarter together at OSU and it would _definitely_ be the worst thing to say to Brittany if she was indeed in a spat with Quinn.

"Don't worry, Katie," the taller was smiling then, and Kate was momentarily thrown by the difference in her face from seconds before. "Quinn and I are fine."

"Okay then," Kate nodded, wanting to believe Brittany just because she said it, but when her sister climbed into the passenger seat of the SUV she felt an odd sort of trepidation form in the pit of her stomach. Brittany shut her door and Kate let her gaze travel from it to the back seat where Quinn was surely still curled up asleep. Something was off. Really, _really _off and she needed to get home and talk to Aubrey about it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in the car with those two and they weren't cuddled up together in the back.

!

It was closer to two in the morning than Kate had initially planned on when they pulled into the long gravel drive of the Pierce family home. She suppressed a groan, wanting nothing more than to fall back into the blissful quiet of her nap but the crunch under the tires was so familiar that she knew she was just moments away from her old bed in her old room and that was _so _much more appealing than the admittedly comfortable backseat of the SUV. She blinked and attempted to rub the sleep from her eyes, taking the moment of stillness to focus on the low murmur of voices drifting back from the front seats.

Brittany had taken the last third of the drive, giving her older sister the opportunity to rest and knowing that she wasn't going to get it while Quinn was behind the wheel. Not that the dark-eyed blonde was anything other than a competent driver, but Kate would trust Brittany behind the controls of the helicopter if the situation called for it. She was just good with moving vehicles, or even movement in general.

"We're home," Brittany's voice carried over the sound of the SUV rolling to a stop and Kate smiled at the relief she heard there. The angle was weird but Kate could barely see over the center console to where the two girls had their fingers tangled together between them. For all intents and purposes they looked fine, and once Quinn had woken up for lunch they two had been as lovey-dovey as she'd ever seen them and it had made her just as nauseous as it always had. But she couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a little too forced.

"Yeah," Quinn's breathy voice rumbled, almost a hum when she let go of Brittany's hand and waited for the engine to cut out before reaching for her seatbelt. "And here comes the welcoming committee."

Kate sat up then, fully pushing out from under the blanket and greeting her sister's bright blue eyes in the rearview mirror with her own. The front porch light was on, as were the lights in the front room visible through the large windows and they all served to illuminate the long gangly features of the youngest Pierce bounding down the porch steps with an energy that rivaled Brittany's. Joey was half way to the car before the doors had swung fully open and Brittany didn't even have her heels to the gravel before she was swept up by the taller girl. Spinning wildly, their laughter bounced about the night and Kate was grateful that the closest neighbors were a quarter of a mile away. Her jaw dropped but whatever witty remark was preparing on the tip of her tongue was silenced when she was pulled into a three way hug with her younger sisters that left her feet dangling a good five inches off the ground. "Put me down, you brutes!" she tried to scold but the effect was lost in her own laughter.

On the other side of the vehicle Aubrey Pierce, the most sedate of the sisters by far, followed Joey's path down the walkway at a strolling pace and choose to stop next to the passenger side door. "Hello, Quinn," she spoke, grinning softly at the only non-related blonde there and Quinn felt herself breath easy for the first time in days. Aubrey's voice was higher than one would expect from the cut of her face, but there was something about it that was a reflection of the girl herself that Quinn had always found comforting in the madness that accompanied the Pierce family. "Hello, Aubrey," she greeted back, smiling up at the slightly taller girl before asking, "How was your drive?"

"It brought me home," she grinned, taking a moment to breath around the word before they were both distracted by Joey picking Kate up in a fireman's hold and spinning her around while Brittany clapped delightedly beside them. "Yours?" she asked in return, flicking her eyes behind her black-rimmed glasses that did nothing to hide the way her eyes flashed brightly just like those of her sisters.

Quinn turned away, suddenly feeling flustered and cold in the crisp November air. "Sure, home" she murmured, trying to catch Brittany's eye over the hood of the monster that she was still trying to figure out how Kate had climbed into, but it was Joey that was looking back at her. Joey's furrowed light eyebrows over bright blue eyes, and Quinn felt like she'd been staring into blue eyes for her entire life. She didn't know it was possible but she was starting to get tired of blonde hair and blue eyes and long limbs. She wanted chocolate brown eyes, and dark hair and petite frames. She wanted Rachel. She _missed _Rachel.

_Fuck_.

Aubrey settled an arm around Quinn's shoulders, drawing her into a hug that for the first time since she was eight years old offered no comfort. This was going to be harder than she originally planned.


	12. In Which What Is Said Cannot Be Unsaid

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi and This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: So. Um… Hi. Sorry for the wait. Heh. Here's 11k words. Enjoy. _Please_.

PS: lex! First of all Hi! and to answer your question, Matt was the sixth guy in glee club in season one (one of the football players, the black one for lack of a better descriptor. And it's not that I don't want to give him a better descriptor it just that he was sort of background and they never did anything with his character) I was actually just going to talk about him once and then never mention him again and see if anyone noticed. A little tongue-in-cheek or what not. But you called me out! Well done, even if it was unintentional :)

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><p>It didn't feel right, this lost feeling swimming under the surface of her skin distorting the comfort she knew she should be feeling. Quinn fluffed the pillow in her hands and cast her gaze down the hall to where Brittany was standing in the bathroom, brushing her teeth and laughing into her phone. She sighed, hugging the pillow to her chest and feeling the tightness in her back coil physically as bright laughter floated just over the sound of the running sink and guilt warred with relief in the pit of her stomach.<p>

The Pierce house had been what she's most closely associated with home for the majority of her life. She would never be able to count the hours she'd spent there, the sleepovers, the holidays, the movie marathons. And then when she'd been kicked out of her parents' house after coming out, she called it _home_ officially instead of just wishing it was. Some of the best memories of her life happened between the walls of the upheld farmhouse and its surrounding grounds and the very notion that she wasn't completely at ease here was feeding her frustration circularly.

"…Mikey, no! She did not!"

She let her eyes close quickly and took a deep breath, trying very hard to take pleasure in the lightness in her girlfriend's voice, just letting the tone be enough for her but the fact that it was directed elsewhere was doing nothing for the young woman's headache. The pounding of feet overhead was all the warning she got before the extended limbs of the youngest Pierce swung out from the stairwell and Joey was standing there in her sweats and old basketball jersey, grinning foolishly and looking around.

"Hey, Jo," Quinn forced softly, smiling up at the younger blonde. She realized in the confusion from earlier that she hadn't spoken to the girl yet, even after Aubrey had left her side to greet Brittany and Kate. It was something of a phenomenon to watch the four of them together and even after all her time with them, Quinn could never quite shake the feeling that she was standing on the outside looking in. "How are you?"

Bright azure eyes blinked at her distractedly and she caught the press of Joey's lips before she rushed out the words, "Is Britty around?"

She dropped the pillow at the head of the pull out couch and made a vague gesture towards the bathroom on the other end of the furnished basement. Joey nodded and moved past her without another word, taking off in the direction that was indicated. Quinn watched over her shoulder as the taller girl came up to Brittany and hugged her older sister from behind, plucking the phone straight from her hand and Quinn felt an unexpected sting at the brush off. She had unique relationships with each of Brittany's sisters, practically growing up with them and all, and Joey was no exception. The girl was something of a gentle giant, known for wearing her heart on her sleeve, perpetual smile and soft nature mixed into active athleticism. And despite the fact that she was the youngest by three years, she was the only one Quinn ever felt like she had to watch her step around. No one wanted to be on the bad side of a Piece, but Aubrey could logic out anything for herself, and it only took a sharp mind and sharper tongue to impress Kate, Brittany, of course, only ever wanted to acknowledge the good in another person, but Joey was an actions type of girl. The only good thing was that the young blonde usually got over her anger just as quickly as it came on, but still. You could say all the flowery words you wanted but if you couldn't back them up you might as well just forget it, she'd only get over it once it all came out. It was never hard to tell when you fell a peg or two in Joey's eyes, either, and up until about twenty seconds ago Quinn had been under the impression that she and the young athlete were on good terms.

She finished making up the bed by the time Joey handed Brittany her phone back and caught the older in a loose headlock. "You're running with me in the morning, right, Britty?" she asked, laughing around the dancer's half-hearted struggle to get out of the hold, turning them so their backs were to Quinn.

Brittany grabbed at her sister's leg and pulled so that they fell backwards onto the bed and Quinn rolled her eyes. She was used to the rough and tumble nature of their relationship, being the closest to her own age and size Brittany was the one that Joey interacted with the most, was most herself around, and Quinn understood that. She took her time getting ready for bed, giving them a chance to catch up and when she exited the bathroom the only Pierce left was her own.

Brittany was settled cross-legged in the middle of the bed, tapping out a message on her phone and chewing on her bottom lip. She's spent the better part of the last half hour on the phone with her dance partner and Quinn knew she had been texting Tina earlier in the car, so while the former head cheerleader was aware that Brittany had a number of friends, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was Santana Lopez on the other end of the conversation.

"Everything okay with Jo?" she asked, trying to fill the air between them.

"Yeah," Brittany nodded, still looking down and Quinn fiddled with the charm on her necklace, occupying her hands to stop them from reaching out for her own phone. But then Brittany was reaching behind herself to set the phone down on the side table, exposing the tautly defined muscles on her abdomen and Quinn was struck by how familiar the image was and how foreign it made her feel. "She just wanted to make sure I was up for a run in the morning," she explained, pulling her mouth to the side in a way Quinn's is familiar with. It was her heavy thought face and despites it's almost comical appearance she knew it meant something serious was on the taller girl's mind, and it was never difficult to figure out what. Brittany rarely played to the role of protector, not when all of her sisters had such strong protective personalities, but every once in a while it peaked out and Quinn knew firsthand how seriously she took the role . The dancer sighed once then, and reached up to push away the hair that had fallen into her eyes, "You don't think she's lonely here, by herself with all of us gone. Do you?" The question comes with cautious eyes turned in her direction and affection that Quinn hadn't realized she was missing rushes her, making her quick to reassure.

"I'm sure she's fine, B. Joey's tough," she leant forward to cup her palm along the smooth skin of her girlfriend's cheek. The action is awkward due to the space between them but her fingers sparked at the contact the way they had for years and she's both frustrated and comforted by it. "Just like her big sister," she finishes, smiling slightly and letting her fingers slip along the underside of her jaw as she pulled away enough to settle on the made up bed next to Brittany.

Blue eyes still looked troubled though, even as she clicked off the light on the corner table and plunged them into darkness. Quinn reclined fully on her back, folding her hands high on her abdomen and let the familiar creaks and groans on the Pierce house take her back in time but even as her body settled, her mind started to race. Home was a relative term, a place where you were supposed to feel accepted and safe and completely yourself, and for as long as she could remember this house and the people in it had been that for her. Something like that doesn't change over night. Does it?

Except that being here, in this house, laying next to her best friend of more than a decade and girlfriend of more than a year didn't make her feel like she was home. She felt hollow when she used to feel whole and cold where warmth had once predominated and none of it was helping her relax. She wasn't an idiot, though, and she knew the reason she was coiled as tightly as a spring was her own fault. Quinn could section out the thoughts in her head, she could compartmentalize and differentiate and reason out the differences between the girl next to her and the one back in New York. But that didn't stop the rest of her body from feeling like it was being torn in two.

This was home, it _was_. But now…?

Fingers tipped over the sensitive skin at the hip, hesitant in a way they hadn't been since the first time they touched her intimately, and her breath caught somewhere in the back of her throat. "Quinn?" Brittany sighed, shuffling and twisting so she was facing the smaller blonde in the dark and even if Quinn couldn't she her, she could feel the small puffs of air against her cheek and she knew the look she was receiving. "Is everything okay with _you_?"

She let her eyes slide close and hummed, moving to tangle her fingers around the hand at her hip. "Everything's fine, B," she turned away from Brittany, dragging the taller girl behind her until she could feel the heat from the dancer's body at her back. There was more shuffling and a dip in the mattress that preceded the feel of lips on her bare shoulder. All at once familiar and foreign, home and not, and the tension was starting to make her sick to her stomach - not boding well for Thanksgiving the following day. Brittany relaxed back down, apparently satisfied with the answer and Quinn waited until the her breathing even out to take a deep one of her own. "Everything is fine," she repeated, willing herself to believe it.

Determined to make it true again.

!

Brittany sat down on the top step of the front porch and bent over at the waist to tie her running shoes, humming blissfully as she took in the familiar sounds and smells of the place she grew up in. She tapped her toes along with the beat of the song in her head and smiled as the cold turned her breath into thin, white wisps in the predawn air. It was eerily still, during that time of the day where one could never be certain if it was much too late or much too early and the world seemed to be holding it breath to see if the sun would indeed appear on the horizon.

Finished with the laces she stretched her legs out down the steps and grabbed the tips of her toes, pulling them up to stretch on her calves and breathed in time, careful not to topple over herself down the stairs. Great balance or no, it had happened more than once.

Silence was not something Brittany handled well. She didn't like being left alone with only the thoughts in her head and still air tended to make her skin crawl. In any other place she would do whatever it took to fill the space, so as not to feel all alone there. But there was something to be said about being home that put it all in a different perspective. The quiet of Lima was something she had been born into, or maybe it had been born into her, but all that seemed to matter was that _this_ silence was one she relished. It was probably because she knew what was going on behind it, that while everything _felt_ still it was actually not.

Her mom's alarm had probably gone off at least once already, which meant her dad was probably grumbling and turning in their bed while his wife was mentally preparing herself for the day that was about to come. Katie and Aubrey, who were both liable to sleep passed noon if given the opportunity, were likely sound asleep in the room 'Bre had grown up in but they were _there_, close at hand if she needed them. And she knew Joey was already up, probably in her room getting ready to join Brittany for their run, while whichever members of her extended family that had arrived the day before were sleeping in the rooms that Katie and Brittany used to claim, as well as the guest room Quinn had occupied for the majority of their last year in Lima.

Quinn. Brittany frowned and sat up, relaxing her legs she raised her arms high over her head and laced her fingers, palms up until the muscles in her shoulders started to protest. If last night were any indicator, Quinn would probably spend the next couple of hours turning uneasily in her sleep and Brittany wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about that.

Sighing heavily, Brittany dropped her arms, let an elbow prop itself up on one of her knees and cradled her chin against the open palm of her hand. What did it mean that she was sitting in the only place where she could take solace in the sound of her own heartbeat while Quinn couldn't even be at peace in her sleep?

Her musings were cut short by the sounds of the front door opening behind her and she turned in time to watch Joey push through the screen door, swinging her arms back and forth in the last stage of her warm up. The taller girl grinned down at her older sister, "Morning, lazy bones."

"Lazy bones?" the dancer laughed and held out a hand for Joey to lift her up, which the younger blonde obliged. Once upright, Brittany shoved Joey lightly on the shoulder, not at all surprised when her athletic younger sister didn't budge, "Jo Jo, I've been sitting out here waiting for you for like, _ever_."

Josephine's smile was her whole personality and she slipped her fingers through her shaggy hair in a move Brittany had only ever seen her and Quinn use . "Whatevs, Britty, let's not go pointing fingers, saying who was waiting on who, or who was abandoned for a girl and New York..." Joey's voice was the deepest of the Pierce sisters, just a touch more than Katie's was normally or Brittany's when she was blanking her emotion, but (much like her face) she had the hardest time keeping what she was feeling out of it. The truth of her hurt was shining through the forced levity in her tone and Brittany was not a fan.

"You okay, Jo?" she asked quietly, touching the tips of her fingers to her sister's side.

Blue eyes, the same ones she saw in the mirror everyday, blinked at her and the wash of emotions that crossed Joey's face passed too fast to discern until it settled on ease as her hands folded around her sister's. "You know if we're still standing here when mom comes down she's going to rope us into helping with something."

"Oh," Brittany caught her lip between her teeth and glanced back through the open door to where she could see the bottom of the staircase that their mother was probably going to be descending at any moment. "We should… go. Like, now."

Joey grinned, holding a laugh under her breath, and curled an arm around Brittany's head to quickly press a kiss to the crown of her hair, "Race you to the Johnston's property line."

"Jo Jo, they live like, four miles away," the older girl pointed out, somewhat skeptically.

The athlete release her sister and jumped all five of the front porch steps in a smooth, practiced movement and started to jog backwards down the start of the driveway passed where Katie had parked her monster SUV the night before. "What's the matter, Britty," she taunted, "Don't think you'll make it?"

That was all it took to get the dancer hot on her trail, both of them laughing as they jostled for the lead place.

!

Santana fiddled with her phone, spinning it lazily on the granite countertop of the breakfast bar in her parents' brownstone. It was early, tipping somewhere around eight in the morning and _God_ knew when the last time she saw that number on the clock was, but she had woken almost an hour ago too keyed to sleep in any longer.

Thanksgiving had always been one for her favorite holidays. All the food and family and football combined to make it one of the greatest days in the year. Plus there was, you know, the food. Between her three aunts on her mother's side and her _Abuela _there was always more than enough to go around and everything was so good that her uncles were known to go back for fourths.

This year is was at her Aunt Constance and Uncle Javier's place on Long Island, and while she probably could have gotten another hour or so of sleep before her parents were even home from the hospital there was something just disconcerting enough to make it difficult to sleep in the flat.

It wasn't the first time she'd been home since school started (one of the hazards of going to college in the same city you were raised was proximity to parents that excelled at guilt trips) but it was the first time she'd been there by herself in that time. After practically being raised that way, she figured she would have been used to the way the silence of the empty halls made the grandfather clock in living room sound like a time bomb or how the stillness in the air highlighted the electric buzz of her heartbeat against the inside of her ribcage. There had been a time when she could have swore she _was _used to it, maybe even relished in the space it gave her to breath, but looking back she wonders if was only a trick of her imagination. Because no matter how she twists it in her head, she can only remember feeling alone in that quiet. With an abruptness she was used to in her own decision making she stood and made her way quickly to the radio in the living room, flipping it on to a random Top 40 station. Santana had grown used to the noise, and if she had ever liked the quiet before she didn't now.

Things were never quiet around Brittany.

The dancer was like pure energy, crackling like lightning, and much like the silence of her parent's home she thought she was used to the way the fine hairs on her arms would stand on end at the blonde's touch. But it would happen again and again and it still managed to send a shiver of shock along her spine. She thought it might be one of those things she would never get used to. She wasn't sure she even wanted to.

The thought is so offhand she almost didn't catch herself thinking it. But once it had been thought, it was all that she could concentrate on. She found herself reaching for her phone even as her brow furrowed and her lips pressed in frustration, and with a twitch of her fingers there is an blank text set to send to her blonde haired friend. The fiery girl hummed over the song playing in the other room and tapped out a _Happy Thanksgiving_ text, sure that Brittany would be awake to receive it.

Bored, she slumped over the countertop and spun the phone once more, watching half heartedly as the bright circle it made faded once before going completely dark. It lit up after a few minutes and Santana couldn't stop the tiny smile that quirked the corners of her lips at the _Gobble, Gobble that's turkey for Happy Thanksgiving_ 3 text she got in return. She laughed, more amused the second time she read it, and shook her head fully convinced Brittany was unlike anyone she had ever met. She tried to think of an appropriate response, but nothing was coming to mind. The dancer was an… acquired taste and Santana thought it would take months, maybe even years to fully understand the way she thought. With any other person the task would seem daunting, pointless even, and not worth the effort, but with Brittany it was a challenge she was willing to undertake. She smirked when the obvious reply came to her, but was distracted by the sound of the front door opening and closing a quick succession.

"'Tana?" her mother's voice sounded surprised and Santana turned in time to watch her mother twist her arm out of the sleeve of her coat to check the watch on her wrist. "You're up early, sweetheart. Did you have trouble sleeping?"

"No, just excited," she answered and stood to embrace her mother. "Where's Dad?"

"Oh, he just got caught up in surgery, dear, should be a couple more hours before he's out and then he'll meet us at your aunt and uncle's."

Santana watched her mother flit around the space before her, removing her coat and dropping it and her purse in one of the chairs in the living room. She disappeared around the corner and the teen rolled her eyes when the music was switched to Christmas carols, taking advantage of the momentary reprieve to fire back a response to Brittany.

"Who could you possibly be texting this early in the morning, Santana?" The girl fumbled with her phone, nearly dropping it over the other side of the counter, when the older woman's voice came right from behind her. "Don't tell me you're still consorting with that hooligan with the mo-hawk," her tone was exasperated, but they both knew it was fake. Maria Lopez had a soft spot for her daughter's best friend and it both amused and creeped her daughter out.

"You know his name is Puck, Mom," she rolled her eyes again, and then grinned at her mother's snort of hilarity at the name as well as the response she got from Brittany, "And no, it's not him."

"I see," the woman hummed, opening the fridge to remove a bottle of water and then closing it once more to catch her daughter's expression. She lifted her eyebrows in amusement "Who is it then, putting that Cheshire grin on your face?"

"No one," she snapped, blinking into an expression Maria was infinitely more familiar with. But she only had to watch a moment longer, for it to change back to that same smile as the phone in front of Santana brightened once more. The older woman leant on her elbows opposite her daughter and waited.

"It's just Brittany," Santana finally answered, when she looked up and caught the curious look her mother was giving her.

"Brittany? Is this a friend from school?"

Her jaw dropped as if to reply, but she forced it closed before a word could leak out. How was she supposed to explain befriending for gay roommate's girlfriend to her mother? "Sort of," she hesitated, biting at her bottom lip and hedging for an answer.

"Sort of?"

"She's, uh," the last text was still open on her phone and she realized maybe she could distract the woman rather than actually explain it. "She's a friend of a friend. She goes to Fordham, on a dance scholarship."

"Dance?" Maria's eyes lit up and Santana knew she had found her distracter. Her mother was probably the biggest supporter of the arts that Santana knew, a patron of more than half a dozen programs throughout the city, and could go on about them for _hours_. She flicked open the latest text and started to tune her mother out when she felt the pressure of a hand on her forearm. "Oh, Santana, you should invite her to see the Nutcracker will us on Sunday! I'm sure she would absolutely _adore_ it, and it would be nice to have someone there who would _appreciate _it with me rather than just you and your father falling asleep in your seats…"

Fuck.

Okay, so maybe she should have thought that one through a little more.

!

"Who ya texting?" Joey plopped down next to Brittany and handed her the extra bottle of water she'd grabbed from the kitchen. It had been almost two hours since they took off, making it all the way to the neighbors and almost halfway back before reducing to a walk and just talking the rest of the way. Any trace of the pain in her voice from earlier had been gone by the time they'd reached the front of the house and Brittany was grateful for it.

With a smile, the dancer twisted the cap off and took a long pull. "Santana," she answered, wiping the beads of water from her top lip with the back of her hand.

"Santana who?" her head tilted down to her sister's shoulder, slightly awkward with the height difference but willing to deal with it for the moment.

The dancer let her cheek fall against the top of Joey's head and with quick movements brought up the picture file from the last time she'd seen her dark-haired friend the day before break. Santana had pulled the hat Brittany had been wear straight from her head and put it on herself, so the picture caught blonde static charged hair and the tan-skinned girl grinning like mad under her knitted cap. "Santana her."

Joey shifted to get a better look, "She's cute."

"Right?" Brittany sighed, flushing when the younger blonde snickered at her breathless voice and jabbed her lightly in the side with an elbow. "She's just," she closed the picture to stop herself from smiling at it, ducking under the soft look Joey was sending her. "She's so awesome, Jo Jo, she's funny and smart and, okay, Joey you should _see_ her dance!" gushing, Brittany _knew _she was gushing but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out once they'd started. "You'd like her, Joey, I think you'd really like her."

She was bright at the end of it, and it was only made worse when she felt arms wrap around her shoulders as her little sister rocked her bodily back and forth. "She sounds really cool, B, I bet I would like her."

Brittany looked up at her, "Yeah?"

Something flashed across Jo's suddenly stormy blue eyes, something she recognized from Katie and Aubrey and even something she'd seen in Mike's eyes on occasion. She may have been older, but there was no doubt who was trying to be the protective one in that moment. The question was: what was she trying to protect her from?

"Yeah," she finally rumbled and reached for the phone in Brittany's hand, "What other pictures do you have in here?"

!

The dark cloud that had been tying Quinn up in knots for the last couple of weeks manifested itself into a feeling of cautious dread from the moment she woke up to basement ceiling made pale by the weak sunlight that streamed through the ground set windows. She blinked and tried to push it down, but the more awake she became the worse the feeling got. She wasn't surprised to find herself alone, nor was she surprised to find the space Brittany had occupied was completely cool to the touch. It was probably later than she had intended to get up, but the restlessness she was feeling probably meant that even though she'd been exhausted she hadn't slept well.

Dragging her feet, and probably making it all the more difficult for herself, she took a shower and dressed from her suitcase. She began to recognize footfalls from the floor above her, as well as the short bursts of noise that managed to overcome the closed door that lead to the basement were she stood. Quietly, she made up the bed and folded it into the couch, replaced the cushions that had been discarded the night before and pushed the coffee table back into its spot. She clapped her hands to her hips and looked around, slowly realizing that there were no more pointless chores to keep her down here. Sooner or later she was going to have to join the family upstairs and find a way to act like she felt like she belonged there and, like ripping off a band-aid, the quicker she got it over with the less painful it was going to be.

Almost as soon as she'd cleared the doorway she made sure to duck away from the open kitchen where the clanking of pots and pans was accompanied by the shouting of profanities and while Quinn knew she was going to eventually greet Brittany's mother, now was not the time for that. The den was where the majority of the noise was coming from so she stopped there, leaning against wall just on the outside of the wide entryway and watched the quiet flurry that marked Pierce family get-togethers. There were fair-haired men and women scattered all about the room with the odd dark-haired relative thrown in to prove genetic diversity, and Quinn recognized all of them. She'd grown up with this family, had spent time at their homes, cried at funerals with them, seen some of them graduate, marry and have children. Her eyes picked out Katie in the far corner, conversing with for grandparents on her father's side, and Joey on the couch with her uncles, but no Brittany.

A hand settled on her hip and the sharp point of a chin made it's way to the curve of her shoulder, but it was Aubrey's scent of apples and cinnamon that greeted her. She leant back into the older girl, used her as an anchor in the moment, and forced a laugh, "It's chaos."

"At its finest," the taller blonde agreed, squeezing Quinn once before letting go and taking a step around her, turning back to offer her a hand with raised eyebrows, "Let us add a bit of our own madness to the mix. Shall we?"

Quinn's lips twitched and for the first time since she left New York, it didn't feel forced.

"Have you seen Brittany?" she asked Kate sometime later, tucking her hands into the front pockets of her sweater and leaning next to the petite blonde against the side of the house where she'd escaped to moments before.

Kate ignored her for a second, choosing to spend it striking her lighter and bringing the flame to the tip of the cigarette she'd left dangling from her lips. Quinn watched the tip flare then burn to from orange to red as the older girl inhaled. "Ran into town to pick up mom's ever growing list of forgottens and _oh-wouldn't-it-be-nice_'s. Better question," she flicked the ash into the air and offered the cigarette to Quinn, "What did you do to piss off Baby Blue Eyes?"

Blonde brows raised over brown eyes and Quinn took what was handed to her, taking a drag and exhaling between the press of her lips, "So, Joey really is mad at me then."

"Hasn't said it specifically, but you know how it is with the small fry," Kate confirmed, taking back the lit stick, "All it takes is a look." Her eyes flicked in the direction of the front of the house when the first rumble of a motorcycle reached them. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, though, Q. She may burn bright, but it never lasts long," the tiny girl knelt down to snuff the tip out in the dirt at their feet and when she stood Quinn was offering her a mint. She laughed, tearing the wrapper and popping it into her mouth, "This is why you're my favorite."

Quinn quirked her eyebrows, sucking on her own mint and with an arm around the older blonde, made her way back into the house.

As it turned out, she didn't need Kate's input about the youngest Pierce sister to figure out that Joey wasn't so keen on her at the moment. There was never any open hostility, Quinn didn't think the girl was even capable of that, but when Josephine Pierce gave you the cold shoulder it was never exactly subtle. Quinn could probably spend the rest of her day trying to rack her brain to figure out what the younger blonde perceived to have happened between the two of them or she could continue on with the plan she had originally and just _make it through the day_.

It worked too, for the most part. She was able to avoid Jo by sticking to Brittany in greeting various members of the Pierce family. She spent a good hour under the arm of Jeffery Pierce, her girlfriend's father, talking about college classes and parties and the McKinley High homecoming. There was her dreaded turn in the kitchen of doom keeping the peace between Aimee Pierce, the ever frazzled and somehow professional mother of the house, and her mother-in-law, Granny Pierce, who doted on Quinn almost as much as she criticized Aimee.

They were separated by more than a few people throughout dinner and even after when the group of family and friends split once more to mingle in smaller sets, some to camp out in the den to watch football and others to the outside and others still to sit at the cleared tables to rifle through adds for Black Friday deals.

In fact it wasn't until the clock was ticking towards the evening hours that Joey even looked at Quinn let alone addressed her directly.

They were half an hour into the season's first showing of _It's a Wonderful Life_, with Quinn finally beginning to feel the tendrils of contentment as she half laid curled on the couch under Brittany's arm, with Kate's feet propped up in her lap. Jeff and Aimee's voices were audible just down the hall bidding farewell to the last of the guests and Aubrey was in the kitchen raiding the leftovers for a snacks, while Joey was seated in a recliner on the Brittany's other side quietly talking to one another. Quinn was fine, just laying where she was and it wasn't until she overheard the topic of their conversation that the dark cloud from earlier reared it's ugly head once more.

"She got you to try pineapples on your pizza?" Joey was laughing, "That's sick, Britty."

"What's sick, Jo?" Aubrey asked, coming into the room and handing off one of the plates she was holding to Kate before she occupied the available loveseat of the other side of the room.

The youngest blonde wrinkled her nose at Brittany and laughing answered her other sister, "Britty's got a friend in New York that eats pineapples on her pizza."

"With like, pizza sauce and cheese and shit?" Kate asked, stretching her leg over Quinn to kick at the dancer's thigh. "That is sick, B."

Brittany caught the offending foot in her free hand and laughed at the incredulous tones she was getting from her sisters. "I dunno," she shrugged, "I tried some of hers and it actually wasn't that bad."

Quinn felt the smile on her face freeze as the implication of that statement sunk it. She turned slightly, just enough to look up at the taller blonde at an awkward angle, "Who are you talking about, B?"

"San," the blonde hummed, not paying attention to the way the name of the girl dropped from her tongue in an off-handed manner, nor to the way it made Quinn still entirely under her arm.

Her mind went blank, like a processor suddenly given an over-abundance of information to sieve through without being given a proper upgrade. She blinked, tried to kick start the thought process but all she could focus on was the fact that, at some point between when she first handed that phone to her roommate and now Brittany had _met_ Santana, had sat down with her. They'd spent _time _together.

She pulled out from under Brittany's arm and pushed away Kate's feet in the same movement, despite protests from both. Too much to keep in she stood and paced a step, forcing movement to stop herself from doing something else but it was more than just ice she felt along the ridges of her spine. It was anger and fear and every emotion she'd locked up tight at the thought of the two of them becoming friends and it was rushing her, making it hard to see straight. She tried to slam the lid back down, but Pandora's Box was a bitch once opened and Quinn was starting to feel uncomfortably hot under the collar. "Why didn't you tell me you were seeing her?"

Pale eyelashes fluttered over cheeks stained pink in confusion, but it wasn't Brittany's voice that sounded out in reply. "Why wouldn't she be allowed to see Santana?"

Joey's rumbling voice was right behind her, closer than she'd anticipated because she'd been so focused on Brittany that she'd missed the younger girl's approach entirely. Quinn found herself swiveling under a harsh blue stare and she jerked back, realizing just how much Joey towered over her when she stood at full height. It was the first time the youngest Pierce had addressed her all day and it surprised her more than she thought it would. But despite her hulking appearance Quinn knew the girl was about as threatening as a wet kitten and in her anger at Brittany and (so much more) Santana she was more than willing to dismiss the athlete. She stared back, feeling the flatness of her own stare in the tightness of her face, "This doesn't really involve you, Jo."

But Joey didn't back down, she didn't even back _away_, instead she leant in closer forcing Quinn to crane her neck to continue to look her in the eye, "She's mysister."

"She's _my _girlfriend," the smaller girl countered, catching movement out of both corners of her eyes but she was too focused upward to truly comprehend anything other than the flash of actual anger in blue eyes. The brown-eyed girl felt her hackles rise as her sense of impending trouble started to build and while she didn't know what it was about that statement that set her off, she knew it was just fuel to the fire that burned in the younger girl's mind. Unstable, Quinn recognized the look, like a bomb that needed to be defused, but she didn't know if she could hold her hands steady enough to do it properly. "Take a step back, Jo," she murmured through clenched teeth, "and stay out of it."

"What gives you the right to tell me what to do," Joey hummed, so much like Brittany did when she was trying to bite her tongue, but the anger in her throat made it come out like a growl and Quinn's black cloud started to spit lightning. Joey had listen to Quinn for as long she could remember, there had been a time when the younger girl had practically idolized her. She'd gotten angry with Quinn before, to be sure, but the very thought that she wouldn't do as she's told was more distressing than just about any other thought she'd had today. So when the taller girl stepped closer, hover a hairbreadth over the brown-eyed girl, Quinn _knew_ whatever happened next was going to the far worse than whatever she could have possibly prepared herself for.

"_You cheated on her, Quinn."_

Her entire body slackened and the blood rushing through her ears was enough to deafen the sound of people rushing. Her vision swam as the muscles around her eyes twitched, causing her to blink rapidly and she felt faint. Her shoulders dropped and her hands went numb like they'd been dipped in a bucket of ice water. She couldn't breath.

Jo didn't know. Jo _couldn't _know. "What are you talking about?" she stuttered through, twisting her fingers into claws, using the stain to get feeling back into them all the while trying not to swallow her own tongue.

"You cheated on Brittany," the athlete repeated once more, low in her throat, as her fists started to loosen at her sides unsurely. But it was like she was talking through a plane of glass or from under water, muddied and without proper elocution. Quinn started to shake and it was the pressure more than the warmth that marked an arm wrapping itself around her shoulders, drawing her back a step as another body pushed its way between them.

"Breathe, Quinn," was being whispered in her ear. Repeated over again and just loud enough to register. "_Just breathe_."

She blinked and she could see Aubrey pressing her hand into Joey's shoulder and pushing her back a step and forcing space between the tallest blonde and Quinn. "Josephine Elise Pierce, what is your problem?" she barked, cutting her eyes to where Brittany was standing in front of Quinn, her hands on the brown-eyed girl's shoulders. Keeping her still.

Keeping her upright.

"What _is_ she talking about?" Kate shifted on the couch leaning her way into the conversation, and letting her eyes jumped between all the players, until they landed on her youngest sister.

"Last year," Joey stammered, embarrassment slowly taking it's hold over her. She was not used to being the center of attention when it came to occupying a room with all of her sisters, but this was something else completely. This was standing there, with Aubrey's disappointment evident in her touch and Kate's suspicion in the curve of her frown. It was the hurt and fear in Quinn's ridged stance and Brittany steadfastly looking away, shaking her head sadly. The anger she'd been carrying since the news had made it's way to her via the McKinley High grapevine had been lit and, just as Kate had predicted, fizzled just as quickly.

But Quinn wasn't watching her for that change, she wasn't paying attention to much of anything after the athlete gave her a timeframe to go by. _Oh, _that, she shuddered, and despite the awful implication of what her reputation at high school must have come to after graduation, she actually felt like she could take a breath. Joey found out about _that_.

Kate was standing now, a small referee between the four of them, looking more confused than any other person in the room and knowing it. "Seriously, what the hell did I miss?"

Joey's opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue but Aubrey's heel coming down on her toes made her clamp her jaw around a hiss. On the other side Brittany was looking downward, avoiding everything else in the world while Quinn appeared to be staring off into space. She licked her lips and gave a half laugh that was anything but funny, "A mistake." Her eyes cut across to Joey, just over Kate's head (something else the smallest Pierce hated more than anything). "I made a mistake last year."

"You were supposed to be with Brittany at the time," Joey swallowed heavily, stepping back so she was out of her eldest sister's hold. The anger had gone out of her, that much was evident in the drop of her shoulders and the way she couldn't quite lift her head to look anyone in the eye. No, this was all hurt. "You cheated on her, Quinn. How could you do that?"

"That's not any of your business, Josephine," Aubrey pointed out, flexing her wrists in case she had to physically step in again. She looked to Kate, dipping her chin to make her point and lifted her eyebrows. Hesitantly Kate nodded once, to show her support and indicate just where her own loyalties lay.

Joey watched them, looking oddly betrayed, "She's our sister."

"It's in the past, Jo," Brittany finally spoke up, startling Quinn despite her soft voice, deadened almost in her attempt to withhold her own hurt at Joey's outburst. "You don't need to bring it up."

"But what if she does it again?"

Quinn's entire body tensed and the too cold feeling spreading from her shoulder blade to her toes was interrupted only by the way her stomach rolled like it was being boiled. She shook her head, brushed off Brittany's hand and crossed her arms tight across her chest, drawing into herself. "I need some air."

She rushed out of the room, leaving four silent Pierces in her wake until, with a final sad glance about the room, Brittany ducked her head and followed after her.

"Is it true then?" Kate broke the silence between them once the front door had clicked shut once more behind the dancer, talking just over the sound of the movie still playing in the background. "Did you know about it, Aubrey?"

"Doesn't matter," the eldest answered, focus still trained on the youngest. Joey's nostrils were flared as her eyes followed the path Quinn took but when Aubrey spoke it drew her attention. "Why would you do that, Joey?" she asked, pinching the bridge of her nose she backed away slowly. "You know Quinn, you know her. God, Jo, you know _better_. This is the first time we've been together in months and you have to bring up something that would…" she trailed off and shook her head. "Why would you do that?"

The athlete's anger failed to reignite under the tired look she was getting but her disbelief shone more brightly than Aubrey had ever seen in Joey's stormy blue eyes, "Why wouldn't you?"

But the older just shook her head once, sitting down at her spot on the loveseat with a heavy sigh. She suddenly felt too old for the room, too tired for the holiday. It was Kate that answered instead as she sat down next to her older sister. "Quinn's our sister too, Jo Jo. _That_'_s _what you know, and _that's_ what you forgot. You protect her, like you protect Brittany and Aubrey and me. She's just as much a part of this family as anyone else," she gave her sister a pointed look and started to pick at the food Aubrey had brought her earlier, "you _used _to know that." Joey flushed as her shoulders tensed, "And when Brittany is finally able to bring her back, you know what you have to do."

Tears prickled at her eyes, but even as she nodded she wondered if apologizing would be enough.

!

Quinn looked up when the front door clicked shut as quietly as possible behind her, not at all surprised to see Brittany standing there with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets and kicking the open air, steadfastly avoiding Quinn's eye. Still feeling thick from what Joey had said she wasn't sure she was prepared to deal with much at the moment. She was afraid if she started talking, something would slip. Something would go wrong. _More wrong_. She frowned at the thought.

Brittany hummed and slowly made her way down the steps, stopping at the bottom to turn and kick the tip of Quinn's shoes peaking out over the edge of the stair. She pulled a face and pouted heavily at the smaller girl, waiting until Quinn's face softened to hold out her hand where the smaller girl caught the glint of the metal of keys around her finger, "Want to go for a ride?"

The noise that burst from her throat was a harsh simile of a laugh but she nodded shakily, reaching for Brittany's hand and letting the dancer pull her to her feet.

!

"Come on, S, you can at least tell me if the girl is bangin' -_oomph!_" Noah Puckerman swallowed his breath- and gum- awkwardly when the basketball made solid contact with his sternum. He kicked the ball away and hunched over his own thighs, couching and hacking until he could breath without wheezing and then gave it an extra second to figure out if he actually _had_ swallowed the gum or if it was going to be stuck to the inside of one of his lungs for the rest of his life. "_Christ_, woman!" he pounded on his chest once for good measure and stood up to level a glare at the small girl who was preemptively glaring back at him.

Santana had never really been one for sympathy, as he well knew so was no surprise when she brushed by him roughly. "You're a pig," she snapped as she retrieved the ball from where he had half heartedly punted it against the chain link fence.

"Whatever," he waved her off and stopped himself shy of sticking out his tongue to emphasize his point. "It's a _legitimate _fucking question," he grumbled, still rubbing at the sore spot and glaring at her back.

She turned and threw it back at him, but this time he caught it deftly and started to dribble it back and forth in front of him. "_How _exactly is that a _legitimate_ fucking question?" she asked, gesturing for a pass that he handed off only so that he could drop into a defensive semi-crouch as she started her way to the hoop.

"It's a _legitimate _fucking question because -_ow!_ _Watch your elbows, woman!_" he protested, just in time to catch her smirk as she ducked under his elbow and made a drive for the easy lay-up. "You cheat like a bored, suburban housewife and I want you to know I mean that with every fiber of my being," his fists were settled on his hips as he said it in the most serious voice he possessed.

"Seven - zero, me," she grinned, checking the ball to him from under the hoop.

Puck caught the ball and stiff armed it behind his back, dipping his front shoulder low into Santana's space he forced space between them so he could have room to work. "As I was saying -_hut!_" keeping his ground foot steady he stepped around her and drove through the hole made when she took a step back to compensate for his. He tried to cross it between his legs, but seemed to forget that Santana had quicker hands than the guys he played against in high school and it was knocked from his grasp before he could steady it properly. Frowning, he watched it bounce out of bounds and felt the need to point out, "That's still my ball."

The hours after Thanksgiving found the both of them with loss of anything to do. Both of Santana's parents had to sleep some before their shifts at the hospital (the Holidays were a busy time in emergency healthcare) and Puck's mom had been picking up extra shifts for the upcoming Hanukkah season and they figured if nothing else they could work off a little bit of the copious amounts of food they'd consumed earlier in the day. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

He took his turn retrieving the ball and jogged back to the half court line, but before he could fall back into his starting position he stood up with a confused look on his face. "I was talking about something," he stated rubbing a hand across the front of his shirt, where he'd just been assaulted by his opponent.

"No, you weren't," the tanned girl tried to convince him, flexing her legs and pulling up slightly on the baggy pair of sweatpants she was wearing.

He crossed the ball between them, spinning it in one hand in thought, "Yes, I was." He dribbled in once, spun on his heel and attempted a fade away that bounced harmlessly off the far side of the backboard. Together they watched it bounce a couple more times before it rolled once more to the corner made by the silver fence where it appeared to enjoy being. Santana clicked her tongue and pushed the hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her eyes."You suck at basketball."

He shrugged vaguely and scratched his fingers through the shaggy remnants of his mo-hawk, "I just got the new _Call of Duty_."

Santana blinked at him, and shrugged, "I'll kick your ass at that too."

"Whatever," he replied sullenly, but didn't dispute her. They were half a block from his apartment when he slapped the side of his head. "Your girl! I was talking about your girl," he laughed, and then laughed harder at the murderous look he got for it, "Brittany!"

"She's _not_ _my _girl," Santana all but growled, sick of the tone he used whenever he brought up her blonde friend. He was still grinning as he spun the basketball on the tip of his middle finger, transferring it smoothly to his pointer and back. He chuckled to himself and Santana knew exactly what was going to come out of his mouth next.

"Seriously, S, just tell me if she's hot."

"No."

"I'll be cool about it. Just tell me and I'll drop it," he promised, flicking his fingers renewing the speed of the basketball.

She patted the bottom of the spinning orb gently and caught it as it popped from the tip of his fingers, "You're being an ass about it, you _won't _drop it and I'm not going to answer."

The boy slung his arm over her shoulders and dropped it with a _"fuck!"_ as soon as her elbow made contact with the soft flesh just under his ribs. "Would you take a breath, Santana! It's not like I'm not asking if you'd fuck her," " he rumbled, rubbing at the spot and feeling a sympathy twinge in his chest. She flinched next to him and he winced, digging his hands into his pockets and instantly changing his tone. "Chicks are allowed to decide if other chicks are hot, right? Isn't that how you all decide who the hottest bitch in the room is?" he tried to joke, waggling his eyebrows and nudging her shoulder until the stiffness in her step faded.

"I'm always that hottest bitch in the room," she sniffed and he rolled his eyes good naturedly in return.

"Damn right you are," he grinned and this time when her slipped his arm over her shoulders she didn't physically rebuke him. "But you realize the more you stonewall on answering the question, the more I'm convinced this chick is too hot to handle and you don't want me to meet her 'cause you think I'll like her more than you."

"Oh yeah, Puckerman," she prodded him again in the side but this time much lighter and in a manner that fit the sarcasm in her voice, "You've got the whole thing figured out. I just want you all to myself."

"I knew it!" he waved his free arm about in emphasis, and with the other squeezed her tighter to his side until she dipped out from it.

They continued in compatible silence for the rest of the block and as they were waiting for the elevator to drop to the ground floor, Santana had the epiphany that she actually _wanted_ Puck to meet Brittany. She wanted the two of them to be friends, wanted Puck to tell her what he thought about the blonde. To know if her thought she was as amazing as she did. Before she could talk herself out of it, Santana dug her hands in to the front pocket of her hoodie and, keeping her head down, kicked the boy lightly in the ankle. "I could invite her to your show next month," she mumbled, half hoping even as she said it that he wouldn't be able to understand. She looked up and at his quirked eyebrow found herself expanding, "I mean, if you really want to meet her, that is. If that's cool with you."

He grinned wide enough to show teeth and Santana groaned at the sight it. "That would be fucking awesome, S! Does she do shots? Bitch has got to do shots with me or the deal is off. Do you think she'd like our music? She dances, right? This is going to be awesome!"

He continued on during the whole ride up and all the dark girl could think to do was flip the hood over her head and draw the strings all the way down. _Seriously_, she thought, _I'm just going to stop talking for-fucking-ever._

!

Quinn had thought the ride would clear her head, as it always seemed to do for Brittany. But all she could do was hear the sound of her own thoughts, hear Joey's voice, repeating over and over again in time with the roar of the engine. Brittany felt warm underneath her arms and she wished the she wasn't wearing that stupid helmet so that she could lay her head against the dancer's back and try and drown out the sounds of her sins in a heartbeat.

She _was_ doing it again.

That feeling of being torn in two was back full force, overpowering her dark mood and making it worse. Quinn could compartmentalize all she wanted but the black and white of it was that she was cheating on Brittany with Rachel. She was doing it _again_. What happened in high school _was _a mistake, something done out of fear and resentment and Brittany had forgiven her. But this was a different beast entirely. If Brittany knew, if she ever found out, it would break her heart.

But, God help her, the very thought of ending it with Rachel was enough to break her own heart. Rachel brought something to her life that she had been unprepared for, that feeling of renewal, like she was able to make something of herself. Something more than what she was here in Lima. But Lima meant Brittany, Brittany who she had known her entire life. Had been there for her through thick and thin and had never left her side.

It was all too much. She couldn't fucking breath. She _needed_ to get that helmet off.

Panicked, she squeezed the blonde controlling the motorcycle once, perhaps too strongly, around the middle and immediately Brittany released the clutch and tugged gently at the hand brake. As soon as they were going slow enough, not even waiting for a complete stop, Quinn was off the back of the bike, tugging wildly at the piece of fiberglass and padding that was drawing her into a full blown panic attack.

She shouldn't have snapped, should have tried harder to control herself and it wasn't until she was standing there staring down at Brittany just yards away that she realized just how out of place she felt.

Quinn thought she could outgrow it, but Lima was too small a town and she knew the mistakes she had made in high school were going to be the way she was defined here for the rest of life. Even to the people she loved. Quinn wasn't sure she could handle that. Lima, Ohio wasn't going to cut it any more. She wanted New York. She wanted the anonymity, the chance to be whoever she choose to be. She wanted her fresh start, she _deserved_ her fresh start.

Brittany sat just yards away, head down and hands pressed tightly to stop them from shaking. Quinn felt numb inside at the sight of it. She had hurt Brittany before, in the way Joey had just pointed out and in so many more ways the younger girl couldn't possibly know about, but she had never shut out the dancer before. For most of her life, Brittany had known her every thought and hope and dream because she had been her _best _friend.

Had been until that summer when Brittany kissed her and their whole dynamic changed. They had gone from best friends to girlfriends, by no easy road, but Quinn still found herself in unfamiliar territory without her stalwart compass. How are you supposed to talk about something when the person you always talk to is the one you need to talk _about_? She had started to bottle it up, keep it all inside and it had brought her here.

_But where was here?_

With a sigh she crossed the path in front of the idle motorcycle and dropped aimlessly next to her girlfriend, picking almost automatically at the deadening grass at her feet.

"I'm sorry, Brittany," she murmured lowly, not even sure what she was apologizing for, just aware that it was what needed to be said.

Lithe fingers relaxed against the hard surface of Quinn's helmet and the smaller girl watched as blood rushed back to the skin, staining it red before fading to pink. She spun the helmet once between her hands in a fidgeting manner and then let it fall to the ground slowly, like the weight had become just too much to hold any longer. "Are you really so unhappy here, Quinn?"

Quinn startled at the question, choking on her breath at the reminder that no matter how much she hide, Brittany probably still knew her better than anyone else in the world. She shook her head forcefully, not sure if she'd be able to keep lying if she opened her mouth and even less sure of what might pour out in her moderately fragile state. But her frayed nerves showed themselves in other ways, like the way she shifted in her jacket and twisted her fingers deeper into the grass. It was enough for Brittany to read.

The dancer leant sideways and touched her shoulder to Quinn's, letting what little heat she was feeling seep across the shared space. "Mike texted me earlier," she offered almost offhandedly, and Quinn let her head drop to the taller girl's shoulder, not quite sure how long it would take her to get to the point but willing to ride out the meaninglessness of it if it meant she could just sit still for a moment. "He and his dad got into it over dinner, and I guess his grandma tried to throw all his leos into the fire pit." The smaller girl snorted at the absurdity of the statement and Brittany raised her shoulder just enough to let the her know that she thought it was funny too. "So he's dying to get back to New York. He told me he's leaving pretty early in the morning."

Quinn sat up straight and looked at what she could see of Brittany's profile in the low light. "What are you saying, B?" she asked, damning the slight fluttering sensation of chance in her chest because it did not match the concentrated frown on the other girl's face.

Brittany shrugged and picked up the piece of protective equipment from the ground, turning it softly in her hands to check for scratches or dirt before looking up to connect her eyes to Quinn's. "If we can convince Katie to drive up to Columbus in the morning we could be back in New York by tomorrow night," she offered her the purple helmet like a peace offering, "if you wanted."

The muscles in her face tensed at the effort it took to control her face. The offer sounded too good to be true. "But your family, Britt…" she trailed off and with numbed movements took the helmet offered to her, "You love spending time with them."

There was no space to shrug in the motion it took to bring Brittany to her feet, but Quinn could read it in her half smile. "It's just one day, Q. Plus, 'Bre and Katie are trying to convince Mom and Dad to go to New York for some shopping at Christmas time so, like, you know I'll see them then, and Christmas break isn't that far away." She was walking away while she spoke, bending to pick up the helmet she had dropped during Quinn's tantrum earlier and dusted off the outer surface. It showed a lot more wear than the one Quinn had and they both knew it was because while Brittany loved to ride, it was more than a little difficult to get Quinn on the back of the bike with her.

"But…" she tried to interject, stepping to Brittany as the taller girl threw her leg over the seat of the bike and kicked it into a low purr in the same action. Quinn could read the determination in the set of her face and the shallow beating of her heart gave an awful _thump_. Brittany didn't make solid decisions often, preferring to go with the flow of those around her, but when she did there was no going back. Brittany was doing this for her.

"_And_," Brittany was already going on, flipping her cherry red helmet over while holding the rumbling motorcycle up with her legs, "Mike and I could always use the extra rehearsal time before class on Monday." She put the equipment on and flipped up the visor so that her visibility wasn't impaired and offered her hand to Quinn to help her settle on the bike behind her, purple helmet already on, and waited until she felt the smaller girl lock her arms around her middle before relaxing properly into her seat. She went on still, until her voice was lost to the rumbling of the engine but Quinn knew that words didn't matter because she was no longer trying to convince the smaller girl.

!

Joey was waiting for them on the front when they returned. She apologized contritely once Brittany had gone in, trying to give them some privacy and Quinn forgave her with a thin smile but they both knew what had happened wasn't going to forgotten by either side for a long while. Joey had cut her out and Quinn had let her.

It wasn't Brittany parents that took more convincing than anyone else, but once Aubrey had stepped in prompting Katie's support they folded quickly. They were upset, understandably, but when all of their girls were on the same page about something they knew how futile it was to fight.

She set her alarm as the taller blonde texted her dance partner and when Quinn laid her head down to sleep that night, close enough to Brittany to smell the scent of the toothpaste she'd just used, she felt the lessening of the pangs of homesickness she'd been feeling since she left the city. By that time the next day she would be home and that notion scared her more than she'd ever admit.

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts?<em>

Guys, seriously. _Seriously._

Thanks for the reviews, dears. It's so good to hear from you all!

Edit: So I just wanted to point out, eh, clear up any confusion anyone might have. Quinn and Brittany aren't _actually_ related. It's more like, metaphoric. Like Quinn is considered a part of the family by her sisters. Hope that helps.


	13. In Which Calls Are Made

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi & This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

* * *

><p>Mike Chang was a man of many talents. He was considered on the forefront of the next generation of dancers, he was an All-State athlete, an almost unrivaled academic, and (if he didn't say so himself) he made one hell of a <em>quiche lorraine<em>. He was impressive, to say the least, and while his modest nature prevented him from flaunting his many gifts he had always been aware of how blessed he'd been in life. That awareness had built up and enforced his confidence to the point where he was fully convinced that with hard work and a positive outlook he could conquer the world. It wasn't boasting or on over-inflated ego, Mike Chang just tended to excel in everything he put his mind to.

That meant it was something of a slap to the face for him to realize he might be out of his depth on this one.

And it was probably because _this_ particular problem involved his dance partner, one Brittany S. Pierce. More specifically, it was the stiffness in her smile and the dimness in her eyes that felt like a lead weight had been dropped in his stomach. He knew from experience that expression meant there was something heavy on her mind, dragging her down and marking her movements with a certain lethargy, but it wasn't in a way he was used to.

It was subtle, less than an echo in the way she greeted him the morning he offered to drive her and Quinn back to New York and that was probably _why _he was so worried. Brittany's lack of subtly was a staple of her character, like the way her face relaxed into a natural smile or the way she tended to bounce when she walked. She was a bright and cheery person at the core of her, sunshine personified- his best friend- and it tilted his world wonky when she was down.

Mike knew that Brittany had the _capability _of being down, as he'd met her during the lowest point of her young life, when she was painting on a smile over despondency and forcing movement in a way that was unnatural to either one of them. Hell, he'd even known her to be angry and met her halfway between their homes when she was feeling so betrayed that they taught themselves to tango in the heat of her pain. The dancer had sat there on the hood of his car while the blonde ranted in disjointed sentences punctuated with heavy breaths that barely stopped the sobs that threatened her normally stoic response to pressure. But throughout all of that, in each of those moments, Brittany had remained intrinsically _Brittany_- active, animated, with her every thought simmering on the surface of her skin and eyes.

_That_ he could handle, _had_ handled, and brought her back to the person that radiated when she moved. This was different because despite the signs he could see, like the way she crossed her arms after she released him from her hug or how she turned just slightly from Quinn standing awkwardly beside them, there was little he could do. The former head cheerleader's presence had always had a kind of dampening effect on the both of them and the male dancer found himself muting his actions whenever she was around. He didn't want to put it off, hated leaving Brittany to simmer in that dark part of her mind, but he was stuck for the moment between a rock and hard place.

It made for a tense eleven hours in the car, more so than the first time he'd driven to New York with his family and his grandmother glared heat at him from the backseat the entire time, because Brittany's attention was more distracted than usual and she was thus unable to fully bridge the gap that separated her girlfriend and partner. It passed with an agonizing slowness that the boy detested, with Quinn fidgeting quietly in the backseat and Brittany staring fitfully out the window so he could only fall into the beat of the radio to distract himself. And when they pulled up to the front of the smaller girl's dorm Mike had never been so glad to see a brick front in his entire life.

He resisted the urge to breath a sigh of relief as set the car into park and let it idle for a second before reaching to pop the trunk. Glancing across at Brittany, he watched her twist her fingers together in her lap and he wanted to say something then, _do_ something, but he was stopped by the low hum of Quinn's voice just over his right shoulder. "Thanks for the ride, Mike."

He blinked and looked up instead of around and caught golden green eyes in the rearview mirror. She held the look for a split second before she averted her gaze, but it wasn't quite fast enough to hide the mournful expression there. The dancer felt a stirring in his chest, he didn't know what it meant but it gave him the impression of shame and before his face could fall into a frown, he twisted it into a stiff smile directed at her profile. "No problem," he rumbled, "Glad to help."

The girl nodded once, robotically, and exited the vehicle in haste. In the passenger's seat, Brittany pressed her lips in a sad expression at the pair of them, wondering if it were normal for two people she cared about so much to not get along. She mentally shook herself of the expression and unbuckled herself, reaching for the door she flashed him the best smile she could muster, "I'll be right back, Mikey."

Dark brown eyes narrowed marginally, flicking about the scene going on around him. "You sure?" he finally asked when he noticed Quinn standing edgily on the curb with her bag, "I could always come back in a bit to get you, if you wanted some time with…" his eyes shoot to the smaller girl and he kept his voice just below his normal baritone, letting it hang there in the in the space between them.

Brittany bit the corner of her lip and closed her eyes, but her thoughts were not there for him to read. She sighed and opened her eyes, striking Mike with the blue of them. A weak smile was all she could afford as she slipped her fingers through the loose hairs of her bangs, "I'll just be a couple of minutes, if you don't mind waiting."

He nodded and leant back into his seat with a half-shrug and an understanding look, "Take all the time you need, bright eyes." Her lips quirked out of reflex to the nickname and she touched her knuckles briefly to his shoulder before rolling herself out of the car in a single, smooth motion. Mike curled his fingers against his temple and let his elbow rest on door next to the base of his window, taking the moment to watch Brittany offer her hand to Quinn and, after a moment of hesitation, the smaller blonde take it. He felt himself frown and twisted the key until the radio clicked on to distract himself. He drummed his thumbs along the steering wheel unconsciously.

It was a delicate situation to be sure, and Mike didn't think it was entirely fair to _ever_ settle fault on one person, but with evidence like that he was having a hard time _not_ laying it all at Quinn's feet. He been there often enough to know that the smaller girl was the usually the cause of Brittany's darker moods and that she was… distant at the best of times. He didn't know her well and while he didn't understand it, Brittany did and that was what mattered. Except now, without the escape of home and the freedom of high school, he could see the toll it was starting to take on his best friend. Mike wasn't ignorant, though, he knew that the two of them had history, knew that the whole situation was endlessly complicated by the way Quinn was ingrained into Brittany's life and vice versa, and that there was probably more to the situation than _anyone _was aware of.

None of that changed the facts, however, and when it came down to it Brittany was the one who he was concerned for above all.

The passenger side door _click_ed open, pulling him sharply from his thoughts, and as he twisted around to face the blonde, she settled stiffly back into the seat. "B?" he asked, reaching out to touch the back of her hand while she re-buckled the safety belt.

She glanced up through blonde lashes and the vague look in her eyes set his stomach into knots. "Yeah, Mike?" she responded around a sigh, shoulders slouched and neck craned.

He slipped his fingers under her wrist and tapped out a beat against her pulse point. "You want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about?" she asked, shrugging helplessly and he could detect no deception in her face. There was the fluttering of confusion, brushing along her pale cheeks and flashing in the down turned corners of her mouth, but it was obvious that even though Brittany was upset, even she didn't know _why. _

"Nothing, babe," he hummed, squeezing her wrist once to let her know that he was going to be there no matter, and that he was willing to let it slide for the moment. Mike didn't like it, but he knew that it was going to involve a lot more than Sour Patch Kids and RC Cola to fix this. This was going to require reinforcements and with Tina still out of town he knew what the next couple of steps were going to involve. He only hoped that the bond between the girls was strong enough for it to work.

!

Santana flicked through channels at a dizzying pace, the bright screen throwing a myriad of colors across her bored expression. In the far corner of the room, Puck was amused himself by plucking out cords on his acoustic and going through his scales. He'd started out in the recliner that sat next to the end of the couch but his aimless strumming had frayed her nerves more than she was prepared to deal with that day and after a brief scuffle (where she managed to trap him in an arm bar with surprising ease) she'd banished him to his current seat.

"_-I'm so sad and lo-onely-"_

She rolled her eyes and continued to click through, slowly her pace long enough to see what was playing on ESPN but promptly loosing interest.

"'_Cause I ain't got nobody-"_

The tanned girl ground her molars and sat up just enough to peak over the back of the couch. Puck was facing the wall, leaning the chair onto its back two legs while propping his sock-clad feet up onto the wall. The light grained guitar was cradled in his lap and his eyes were closed even as he belted out the lyrics just out of tune enough to grate on Santana's ears.

"_-nobody cares for me, no, nobody cares for me-"_

Slowly, she slipped off one of her shoes and flung it as hard as she could at his head. She missed, spectacularly, and it _thump_ed harmlessly against the wall three feet behind the boy. It still managed to startle him enough to lose his balance and topple backward - ass over elbow- out of the chair and flat on the floor. The clatter was mixed with the harsh twanging of the guitar and Puck yelling obscenities and Santana had to clutch at her stomach as she started to laugh so hard she could barely breath, very nearly falling off the couch in the process. It trailed off into breathless sounding wheezes and she was occupying herself with wiping away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes when she looked up to catch Puck staring down at her, mo-hawk wildly askew and holding the guitar out by the neck. "I swear, Lopez, if so much as one of Esme's strings had been snapped I would have strangled you with it."

She bit her knuckle to stop the laughter from bubbling up again, but the way he continued to glare at her and then give the instrument one firm shake, like it was making his point for him made it difficult. She offered him the remote as a peace offering and, while still muttering death threats under his breath, he snatched the black device from her hand before she could rescind her offer.

He settled the guitar safely on its stand and retook the recliner, petulantly smashing the down channel button until it stopped on Sports Center. Santana rolled her eyes once more, immediately regretting that hot second of charity and started to contemplate a way to return the remote to her own possession when her phone erupted with an almost Reggae sounding beat. She frowned at it, not recognizing the noise, and scooped it up quickly when she saw Puck start for it at the same time. Her surprise faded and she had to suppress an amused grin when the name _Asian Sensation _flashed across the screen overtop a picture of Brittany's dance partner beaming too widely and flashing a double thumbs up.

"Speak," she barked in a tone that didn't match the expression on her face and waved off the confused look Puck was shooting her.

"_Oh damn, you really do answer your phone that way,_" Mike's familiar laugh vibrated along his words after a slight pause and Santana felt the tips of her ears heat even as she smirked. The only way he could have only gotten that information was from Brittany and she felt an odd little thrill at the knowledge that she'd been discussed between the two dancers.

"What do you need, Chang?" she asked, purposefully trying to lighten her voice and take out the harsh twinge that it normally carried to let him know she wasn't being abrasive.

"_I had a list, somewhere around here,_" he joked and she laughed until he gave a sigh. "_But seriously, the thing is, Santana, I kind of need your help,_" the change in his tone made Santana's stomach turn as her mind flashed through a litany and a half of things that could be wrong. They all involved Brittany and none of them were good. She almost missed it when he asked,_ "Do you have a minute?_" but she hummed to the affirmative, biting nervously at the corner of her lip as he outlined the problem he was having.

!

Brittany was having a hard time figuring out why she was feeling so out of sorts. She knew part of it had to be the elation of home and that safe feeling of familiarity that came with it being cut short so abruptly, but there was something else putting her head in a spin. Something that was stopping her from taking up Mike on his offer to sneak into the practice room and have fun with the music the way the did last year and it was the same thing that stopped her from asking Quinn if she wanted to spend the evening together. It was like a tangible coating painted over her skin, weighing her down and making it difficult to breath.

But the more she thought about it, tried to grasp and hold it in her hands like a solid thing to be inspected, the more it evaded her. Brittany wasn't a thinker and if she sat there and _just thought _about it, she would only succeed in giving herself a headache and possibly make it all worse. She took solace in movement, found clarity when her mind was focused entirely on what her body was doing, and she regretted sending Mike away, but she wasn't in the mood for dancing. That kind of made her whole mood that much more terrifying.

She needed a distraction but being back in New York was throwing her off and her mind didn't seem to be able to make connections in thought. At least she had managed to kick off her shoes before collapsing onto her bed, that made the whole curling into a ball and wallowing a lot easier. She was half asleep, drifting to where she was only partially aware of what was going on around her, when the familiar tones of Mya's _Do You Only Wanna Dance?_ called out from her purse. She blinked back into herself, twisted to bat at where she'd dropped the bag and when she recognized who was calling she wondered fir the first time at Mike's choice of ringtones.

The blonde turned back to fold into herself before answering, "Hey, San."

"_Hey, Brits. What are you up to?"_

"Nothing," she murmured, voice lowering almost unconsciously to match the dimness of the room, "Laying down."

"_Laying down_," Santana repeated, her raspy voice sounding both worried and incredulous. "_B, it's like, nine._"

Brittany didn't bother to look at a clock to confirm, choosing to trust that her friend wouldn't exaggerate such a small detail, "Okay."

There was a pause, like the tanned girl didn't quite know how to respond without the lead, but there was little the dancer could add to the conversation. Finally Santana sighed and changed her tone to match that of the taller girl. "_You want to talk about it?"_

The muscles of her face contracted curiously at the solid concern in her friend's voice, "Talk about what?"

"_About why you're back in New York two days early_," was the quick reply. There was no point in beating around the bush or drawing it out. What would be the point of getting Brittany to admit it first if all she wanted was for it to be said aloud?

It was a credit to Brittany that she wasn't all that surprised by the revelation that Santana knew where she was. Instead she rolled her eyes, not that Santana could see, and gave a resigned sigh, "Mike called you, didn't he."

"_He might have_," she consented almost grudgingly, and twisted her lips. "_You mad?_"

She thought about it, but had to admit that despite the fact that her partner had basically gone behind her back she felt a little warmer at the knowledge that he was looking out for her. "No," Brittany answered turning to lay on her back and stretch her legs. With Santana's voice in her ear she was starting to wake up a little more. "He was just doing what he thought was best." She had no way of knowing how that simple statement would strike the tan girl, couldn't know that it made her breath catch and her heart to thump.

It did though and Santana was quick to press on, trying to bring the topic back around to where she didn't have to think about what it meant to do right by the blonde. "_So do you? Want to talk about it, I mean_."

Blue eyes screwed upward and she gave a single, serious thought about it but knew in the end it wasn't the time. It wouldn't help anyways, because she still didn't know what there was to talk about, and that was kind of a requirement in a conversation. "Not really, no."

"_Okay_," Santana blew out as a breath, but she was far from giving up the conversation as a loss. "_What_ do _you want to do then_?"

There was nothing coming to mind, quite literally because actually _doing _something or being active was rather unappealing to her. "Nothing," she shrugged. It was honest, if nothing else.

Santana hummed and Brittany gave a curious frown at the sound of it. "_Do you want to come over here and do nothing with me? 'Rents are at work and I've got the place to myself and it's driving me out of my fucking _mind."

The blonde controlled a smile, just barely, at the forced casual tone Santana employed to deliver the invitation. The offer had an allure all by itself, and while Brittany was in an inactive mood that didn't mean she had to go it alone. Right? "Sounds exciting," she teased, slipping a pale arm behind her head.

"_It's quite_," Santana added, and there was a particular quality in her tone that gave Brittany the distinct impression she was pouting.

"You really now how to sell a girl a good time, S," the dancer deadpanned, shifting once more to turn towards the open space of the room and turn on the light be the head of her bed.

"_Look,_" the smaller girl huffed,"_do I have to beg or what_?" Brittany gave a non-committal _hmm_ and before she could tell the other girl that she was just teasing Santana was pushing on, her voice taking on an almost whine like quality that had Brittany pinching her bottom lip between her thumb and knuckle to stop from laughing. "_Please, come over and keep me company_? _We'll order in and watch crappy made-for-TV movies._"

The blonde stood up, stretching her free arm high over her head and looked at herself in the mirror, wondering if she should change. "Can we make Sundaes and paint each other's nails?"

"_Be still my beating heart, have you been reading my diary?_" Brittany's soft peal of laughter carried over the airwaves and again she had no way of knowing how it made Santana smile reflexively at just the sound of it. "_Pick you up in half an hour_?"

"See you then."

"_Yes you will_."

!

Quinn kicked the door closed behind her and clicked on the light in the common area. She glanced around at the semi-familiar setting and felt a hollow thump in her chest, was this what she had worked so hard to return to? She moved into the bedroom, turning on lights the whole way until it was almost too bright, and set her bag down gently on the end of her bed. There was a half-hearted look of disapproval thrown at her roommate's half of the room, but she lacked the energy to make it stick. She sat down next to her luggage and propped her elbows onto her knees, cradling her chin in the palm of her hands and just thought about the precarious situation she was in.

She wanted to rage, wanted to throw things and smash them to bits. It had helped the last time she'd done it, less than a year and a half ago when her life had spun so wildly out of control that it was the only way she could regain a feeling of stability. Order and chaos. Two halves of a whole that made up the universe and everything in it, including Quinn herself. Feeling oddly introspective, she lifted her head and watched as her hands started to shake. How willing was she to throw away her past and everything it made her into for a new start?

Willing enough, as it would appear, she thought as she picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts until _Rachel Berry_ was highlighted. It was a strange compulsion, to create enough of a mess on the outside in order to feel collected on the inside but no one lived without quirks and this was just one of hers. She thought about not calling, about leaving the dark-haired singer alone like she had chosen to do with the blonde dancer that had brought her here. She didn't deserve them, Rachel _or_ Brittany, but she'd be damned if she knew how to give either one of them up. She just needed to breath for a moment, adjust herself to New York, to making this her home because it was all she could do not to run back and hide herself away in Lima, Ohio and never come out. She could make it work, she _could_, so long as she was able to calm herself down enough to push through and figure out how to make sense of it all once more.

Golden green eyes slid shut of their own accord and Quinn pulled in air until she couldn't anymore, then she pressed _call. _She had sacrificed a lot to be there at that moment, even some things that were not hers to do so with. But ranging was not an option, at the moment.

She reminded herself of that when Rachel's intensely distinct voice cut across the airwaves to greet her and she felt her lips carve themselves into a smile. "Hey, Rach," she responded even as she pressed the heel of her hand against the bridge of her nose and noticed that they had finally stopped shaking.

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts?<em>

__I hope you have a safe and enjoyable New Years!


	14. In Which We Infer What You Imply

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: So this was going to be published like two or three days ago (my days are weird right now) but I was in a self induced minor coma ala Benadryl while I waited for the swelling on the right side of my face to go down enough for me to open my eye. _Super fun_. Now I have a black eye that looks like I was punched very solidly in the face, and despite the fact that _wasn't _people actually don't believe me. It was an allergic reaction to a spider bite. On my _face_. By my _eye_. That sucks. But everyone at work is far more willing to believe that I would antagonize someone to the point where they would want to punch me. In the _face_. What does that say about my personality? Seriously.

Here's your chapter, please enjoy. I need to go to bed.

This chapter is brought to you by _Trapt _'cause they've been going nonstop for like six hours now.

* * *

><p>True to her word, Santana was parked outside of Brittany's dorm building within half an hour and moments later the taller girl was walking towards her car, a half smile turning up the corner of her mouth and her pace much more sedate than the darker girl was used to when it came to her friend. It bothered her in a way she couldn't explain and by the time the blonde settled into the car she must not have been able to wipe the traces of it from her eyes because Brittany immediately pressed her lips and frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked, just the slightest hint of panic seeping into her voice.<p>

Santana shook her head, a wave of dark hair falling across her features in her haste to assure the other girl, "Nothing's wrong." Brittany didn't look convinced and as the dimness that Santana had heard over the phone began to steal the light from blue eyes, she felt compelled into action and she said the first thing that came to her mind, "I just kind of want to hug you right now."

Something like surprise flashed in Brittany's eyes and Santana felt herself blush at both the tiny, genuine grin that now graced the blonde's features and the realization that she had (rather unintentionally) been completely honest. After a second to digest the words Brittany's smile turned coy and the dancer leant in a hairsbreadth closer, "You're allowed, you know, if you really want to. I don't bite… hard." There was teasing in her voice and a quick wink to accompanied the words, and Santana was grateful that Brittany chose to make a joke of it.

In retaliation, she shifted her own smile and batted her eyelashes the way she had for ages while pursuing guys at school and in the clubs. "Oh? And how do you know I don't like it a little _rough_?"

Brittany entire body shook as she tried to continue to maintain a game face but the urge to crack was too strong and giving in, she threw her head back in bright, genuine laughter. Santana relished in the way it filled the air around them, blossoming joy across the blonde's face and echoing something fierce in the space between her lungs. "Oh my God," the dancer wheezed, waving her hand at her face, "Don't say things like that unless you're prepared to face some legit consequences, San."

"That a threat," Santana waggled her eyebrows, "or a promise?" It just encouraging another round of giggles from the taller girl, though, and Santana felt better for it. It was a far cry from the fumbled response she gave when Brittany had asked to the club weeks before, but it felt natural and the words tumbled from her lips without effort or thought. It was freeing in a way, like she'd been unwittingly carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and just being with Brittany just made it all lighter- more bearable. It was an incredible feeling and she wasn't sure how she'd survived the first eighteen years of her life without it.

They grinned at one another for a second longer and the darker girl watched the stress lines in the corners of Brittany's eyes lessen until they carried less of the harshness that she'd held there moments ago and then her friend was pulling the shoulder strap of the seat belt back off and opening her arms, twitching her wrists to gesture Santana into the circle she'd created. "Seriously though, now you have to hug me."

It was awkward, to say the least, because she didn't bother wasting the time to unbuckle herself and they were hindered by the center console but it was perfect for that moment and she was glad that the world had synced up the way it was supposed to. When she pulled back the familiar spark was there, slowly but surely brightening blue eyes, and Santana felt the warm spot in her chest expanded across her shoulders and up over the back of her neck.

"So," she shifted back into her seat, violently resisting the sudden urge she had to maintain contact and curl her fingers around Brittany's shoulder, "I've got Chinese take out on speed dial, a couple pints of ice cream in the freezer and a DVR full of unnecessarily drama and cheesy special effects. How's that sound for a night of nothing?"

"That sounds perfect." Brittany smiled sincerely, and appearing to not have the same reservations about touching as Santana did, reached across to softly touch the smaller girl at the crook of her elbow, "Thank you, Santana."

"Don't thank me yet," she spoke over the onset rush of blood through the vessels of her ears, "We don't know how terrible these movies might be."

!

"Okay," Brittany sighed, blowing hair out of her face and cutting her eyes across to where Santana was watching her from the other side of the couch, head propped up against her curled knuckles and pencil-thin dark eyebrows arched in an unasked question. "That was really bad," she half giggled, pressing her face into the pillow she'd been hugging against her chest and Santana's face immediately broke into a smile, wielding the remote to stop the credits, with an "_I told you so._"

Their movie marathon had no particular theme, spanning from a _Lifetime _original to one that had to grace the bottom of the Science Fiction Channel's barrel and couple rom-coms that had no right to ever see the light of day. They were so mind-numbingly awful with their campy dialogue, inconsistent plots and disastrous acting that the pair of girls had spent more time making fun _of _them than actually paying attention to what was happening _in _them. Well, Santana made fun of them, maintaining a running monologue from opening to ending credits and Brittany fluctuated between giggling into her pillow and laughing outright.

Santana didn't need much more than that to consider it absolutely perfect.

"My turn to pick something," Brittany informed her, shifting to stretch out her legs and carefully set the heels of her sock-clad feet on the coffee table in front of her. Santana handed over the remote without thinking about it, and gave the blonde a moment to readjust in her seat before moving to lay further lengthwise along the couch they were sharing. Without missing a beat, and honestly Santana didn't think the dancer knew _how _to miss one, Brittany used her free hand to pull the smaller girl's feet into her lap before reaching behind herself to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and pull it down and over the both of them.

The blonde made a selection and as eerie music began to pour from the speakers and Santana snuggled further into the cushions, fully preparing herself to simultaneously hate and love every second of the next hour and a half when she felt a light tapping against her shin. She blinked and looked down to where Brittany hand rested on the smaller girl's leg, over the material of the blanket, and was absentmindedly keeping time with the music from the movie. If it were anyone else she would think they were anxious or uneasy (she'd also be kicking, but that's territory she didn't have the capacity to think about with the pressure of Brittany's hand just under her knee) but Santana knew that for perhaps the first time all day Brittany was completely out of her own head and okay. She was acknowledging the rhythm around her, relaxing and bleeding into the atmosphere like she normally did and the barest hint of a smug smile tugged at the darker girl's lips.

It was an odd sensation, to know that by doing little more than just being _present _Santana was able to give Brittany the sensation of returning to normal, of regaining her balance. It made her chest tighten and ears start to burn in a blush but she didn't pay any attention to the any of that. Instead, she settled back down, curled an arm under her head and waited for the next terrible movie to begin, knowing there was no where else in the world she would rather be.

Maria Lopez was no stranger to her daughter's odd sleeping habits. For years she or her husband would come home from a night shift at the hospital and find their precious little girl asleep on the couch, thoroughly convinced that sleeping in the living room would keep her better informed of when they made it through the front door. It was a sound theory, giving the proximity of the living room to the foyer, but the fault lay in the fact that nothing short of the Apocalypse (and the woman wasn't fully convince that even that would be enough) could wake Santana. Still, it was the thought that melted her heart and what got her through those particular years when parents were a burden and Santana no longer seemed to care if they came home at all, let alone _when_.

So, it was with a wave of nostalgia and something of a comfort to quietly tiptoe in through the front door and be greeted by the low murmur of the television in the living room. She'd experienced the same moment hundreds of times in the past with every little detail so familiar, like the mess in the dining room and the light still on in the kitchen, that she slipped into the routine without pause. Kick off her heels by the door, set her bag down on the counter, flip the switch in the kitchen, consider cleaning up the mess on the table (figure that it'll still be there in the morning) and move into the living room to turn off the television.

In fact, she was so into the routine that it took her nearly a minute and a half to figure out what was so out of place about the scene in front of her. She took it in piece by piece, seeing that there was her daughter, asleep on her couch (it was a lovely chocolate leather piece that Santana had picked out- the girl had the _strangest _obsession with furniture) wrapped up securely in her grandmother's afghan and the long, pale arm of a fair-headed girl.

_Oh_.

She blinked, scratched her fingers through the hair loosened from the bun she'd twisted it into for work, and blinked once more but the vision remained unchanged. Maria settled her hands on her hips and glanced around the room, trying to kick start her mind into computing but she'd just spent the last nine hours on her feet repairing a myocardial tear in a twelve year old and she was _beyond _exhausted. Formulating thoughts seemed to be just out of her reach so she watched them a moment longer, taking note of what she could see rather than attempt to deduce what any of it _meant_.

Visually, the two of them looked contradictorily beautiful, with blonde tufts of the other girl's hair falling across the same pillow as her daughter's own dark locks. Santana's small form was curled loosely into herself, wrapped in the length of mystery girl whose knees were bent awkwardly over the other end of the couch. Her forehead was pressed up against the spot on Santana's back just below the base of her neck and she slept soundly despite the uncomfortable looking position. Due to the lack of space between them, it was hard to tell if the girl was wrapped around Santana or if Santana was burrowed into the girl, but given the way her daughter was tucked under the blanket and the other girl was sort of wedged there between her and the back of the couch it didn't take much of a leap to think that the blonde had simply tipped over in her sleep. The cuddling, and Maria could think of no better term for it, was very likely unintentional. Perhaps even innocent. And bordering on the adorable.

Maria pressed the heels of her hands gently over her eyes and took a deep breath. There were any numbers of way she supposed a parent was meant to act when they found their only child cuddling with a member of the same sex on the couch at three in the morning. And yes, there was a flash of worry that creased Maria's brow at the implication of the pose but it only took a look at Santana's face for it to fade to a mild concern. What she found was worrying her, far more than _any_ implication, was that if it _did _mean something that Santana hadn't _told _her. Yet the more she looked the more she seemed to be pressing her lips to so that they wouldn't accidentally curl into a smile. She might not know exactly how she was supposed to respond, but she did know that she shouldn't be smiling when faced with her only child tangled in sleep with a strange girl but still...

Maria knew how people relaxed when they slept, knew that the muscles that controlled expressions were no longer governed as strictly as they were during conscious hours and that in sleep they tended to reflect the peace felt. And as her mother, Maria had spent innumerable hours watching Santana sleep and dream and yet, in all that careful study she had never known her daughter to smile so as she slept. And looking at her now, well, anything that made that sort of impact on her little girl wasn't something Maria was very willing to interrupt. There would be time in the morning or some other day to figure out what any of it actually meant anything, but for now she was content to press a kiss to Santana's temple and brush blonde hair off of a pale forehead in thanks before making her way to bed.

!

The next morning, when Maria was well rested and more in control of her facilities she felt more prepared to deal with, er, _whatever_ it was that she had seen the night before. She tied on her robe and steeling herself left the comfort of her room to face what she _might_ find and instead discovered that she wasn't nearly prepared enough for what she _did _find.

As the mother of Santana Lopez, Maria felt she had a right to be wary when it came to teenage girls and mornings, so she was willing to give herself some leeway at her own shock in finding the area _clean_. The mess in the dining room had been cleared up and nothing was out of place. In fact, had she not seen it the night before Maria wouldn't have thought there was any one else home. Frowning, she gave a quick peak into the living room to ensured herself that, if nothing else, her daughter still slept like the dead and was currently passed out on the couch, unlikely to wake any time soon.

It was the kitchen that had her real attention, however, because that was the space her unknown house guest currently occupied. Doing the dishes. Maria rubbed her eyes, but there was the girl from the night before elbow deep in sudsy water, quietly humming along with the radio in the corner, bouncing on the balls of her feet completely in time with the beat and completely unaware of anything outside her little bubble. Much like the night before, it took Maria a moment to completely understand what was happening as she had never seen anyone move so constantly and fluidly. She found that tit was breathtaking in a way, as she stood there evaluating the girl. She was taller than Maria had originally anticipated, with long graceful arms and incredibly toned legs that extended miles passed the hem of cotton shorts that Maria recognized as Santana's from her high school cheerleading squad. It was probably the way she moved that brought the name Brittany to mind, because this surely had to be Santana's dancer friend. Yet the more that she watched, observed, the more it became obvious that it wasn't just the movement that made it click for her. This girl, with her blonde hair and natural enthusiasm, was like sunshine on a cloudy day, and very quickly the woman understood why Santana looked like she was compelled to smile at the quiet confession of friendship the other day.

"Oh!" the girl's surprised gasp was accompanied by the fumbling of the dish she was currently drying and the widening of bright blue eyes. Maria closed her eyes and winced in anticipation of a shattering noise that did… not come. She peeled open one eye and noticed the confused look that set the girl's face, then peeled open the other and forced the tension from her neck.

"Are you alright, Mrs. Lopez?" she heard asked hesitantly and Maria was shocked at the innocent quality that predominated the voice. Weren't teenagers by definition supposed to act superior to parents? But there was no snark, no hint of condescension, just genuine concern with a touch of worry in her voice.

She blinked and the plate that she was sure would be in a thousand pieces on the floor was being safely set inside the drying rack and there was a hand half held out as if to steady her. "I'm... fine, dear," she answered, slightly startled to realize that blonde actually had a few inches on her. "You must be Brittany, I'm hoping," the woman qualified, rather unaware of how to greet the girl.

She took some relief when the blonde blinked down at her, confusion highlighting her startling blue eyes and she looked just as befuddled by the situation as Maria felt. "Yes, ma'am," she answered, her voice just as halting as her expression. "I'm sorry about spending the night without asking," her bottom lip disappeared beneath a line of white teeth and demurely she flicked her eyes in the direction where Santana was still passed out.

The girl had manners, which was certainly a step in the right direction, but Maria wondered what the girl could have possibly been chastised about in the past, and by who, to apologize for that. "Oh, don't worry about it, dear," Maria answered on reflex and then shook her head. "To be quite honest, I prefer it to the thought of two young girls running around the city at all hours of the night."

"Still," Brittany quirked the corner of her lips and reached up to fiddle with the charm dangling from her necklace, "I'm sorry."

Maria waved her hand, and had to very quickly suppress the urge to laugh at the entire awkward mess. Having dealt mostly with Santana's lack of concern or brazen disregard for social protocol she was beginning to find this girl's shyness endearing in a way and Maria felt an odd draw to put her at ease. She didn't know if it was because of what she saw last night, or because of the way Santana lit up at a text message or maybe something else entirely, but she just knew that Brittany was very likely to be around for a while and it would be better to start out on the right foot.

Blowing out a breath, she smile and offered a hand, "Let's start over, shall we?" Brittany tilted her head and slowly let a grin pull at her lips, firmly she took Maria's hand. "Good morning, dear," the woman greeted exaggeratedly, giving Brittany's hand a gently squeeze and making her smile, "I'm Maria, Santana's mother."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Lopez," the blonde bounced on the balls of her feet and Maria was amazed at the sudden transformation in her stance. "I'm Brittany, Santana's friend."

_Friend_, Maria repeated mentally, _I can deal with friend_. Aloud, she gave an overly dramatic sigh and with her free hand she reached out to pat the teen on the arm, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Brittany, but I'll have no more of this _Mrs. Lopez _business. If we're going to get along at all I'm going to have to insist that you call me Maria. Alright?"

"Alright," Brittany's smile broke full out and Maria found herself smiling back without even meaning to.

"Fantastic." Releasing her hand, Maria reached up to squeeze the taller girl at her biceps lightly and then stepped past her into the kitchen. "Now, I'm going to make us a pot of coffee and we're going to enjoy it while _you _tell me all about yourself. Sound good?"

"Yes, ma'a-" dark eyebrows quirked up, so much like how Santana's did when she was amused that Brittany blushed automatically and the woman felt herself relax at just the sight of it. "-Maria," she corrected herself and received a wink in return.

"Go on," the woman encouraged, "Santana mentioned that you danced, it that correct? Are you at NYU as well?"

"I do study dance," she shrugged and blew a little puff of air, "But at Fordham."

"Oh," the smaller woman stilled at the revelation and she didn't catch it quickly enough to pull all of the surprise from her voice. It was said in such an offhanded manner that it took a moment to register and impress properly upon her. "Brittany, that's a very good school," she turned to look at the blonde and was impressed at the shy pride she saw in her shrug. "What style of dance do you study?"

Maria turned back to the coffee pot and from the corner of her eye she watched as Brittany brushed her hands along the area around the sink and then with a hop she was sitting on the counter, legs crossed at her ankles and hands at her sides to balance herself. "Ballet," she answered after a pause, biting at her lip and watching Maria intently, "I'm a ballet dancer."

"Brittany, sweetheart," she threw over her shoulder, "I'm afraid I like you already."

!

Santana always woke with a slight feeling of disconnect. She was used to it, in a way, but that morning there was just something more off than she was accustomed to. She felt warmer, for one, and confused when she stretched out because she was absolutely _positive _there had been another body there with her moments before. The confusion faded when she started to recall the previous night but it only faded into hollow ache somewhere between her ribs that she had no name to give. Another point of disconnect came when she was able to grudgingly roll herself off of the couch and make the slow and arduous trek towards the noise that had likely woken her, because she didn't expect to find her mother. Her mother sitting at the dining room table, laughing and drinking coffee.

With Brittany.

She blinked and dropped the afghan she'd taken with her from the living room but even with her hands free to rub at her eyes the scene didn't change. It was early, however, much too early and she was in no mood to deal with surprises, so she did what she always did and acted like there wasn't a surprise to deal with at all. Stopping next to the table, she groaned as she laced her fingers and raised her arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch, choosing to ignore her mother's raised eyebrows and instead stick her tongue out at Brittany who was giving her a through mock once over.

"Well, good morning, sunshine! So nice of you to join us!" Maria spoke up and recognizing her mother's overly bright voice for the sarcasm it held, Santana just arched an eyebrow in response. It was probably a smart move considering that if she'd tried a verbal one, it wouldn't have been pretty and she didn't want to fight with the woman in front of Brittany. Her mother just smiled at her, however, knowing her well enough to accept the greeting and took another sip from the mug pressed between her hands. Brittany grinned at her from her seat, one arm looped casually around a raised knee as she fiddled with the handle of the mug set in front of her.

Dropping her arms Santana brushed her hand across the back of the high-backed chair her friend occupied and wrinkled her nose at the mostly full mug caught between her long fingers.

"Britts, are you drinking coffee?" she grunted, sleep still etched in her voice as she reached out to snag the drink.

"Your mom made it for me," the blonde shrugged, her shoulder rubbing innocuously against Santana's side and the darker girl rolled her eyes, humming unintentionally as she took a long sip. Carefully she avoided looking across the table at her mother while she touched the tips of her fingers to her friend's shoulder. "We have orange juice in the fridge, you want a glass?"

"I'm okay," she shrugged again, but Santana paid her no mind and squeezed the shoulder under her hand once before walking into the kitchen.

Across from her Maria failed horribly at hiding a smile behind her own cup of coffee and murmured to the girl, "Something wrong with your coffee, sweetheart?"

"Coffee's fine, mom," Santana answered for her, voice carrying from where she was half buried in the refrigerator.

"I'm not a big fan of the taste," she explained partially and from the kitchen Santana snicker could be heard.

"Not a fan of the taste? Britts, you said it reminded you of tree bark. You won't even steak more than a couple sips of mine whenever I get a latte."

"Tree bark?" Maria asked, swinging her gaze from the kitchen to Brittany who was back to blushing a pale pink.

"When I was seven," she admitted almost grudgingly, "Katie, one of my sisters, told me that if I didn't prove I could survive in the woods by our house that our parents would sell me to traveling Gypsies." It would have been bad form to laugh, so Maria bit the inside of her cheek to stop it from bubbling out. She couldn't control the way her eyes shimmered from the repression and Brittany had seen Santana do the exact same thing enough times to know what it meant, so she gave another self-depreciating smile and laughed for the woman. "I think I was supposed to stay out there overnight, but my parents started freaking out when I didn't come in for dinner and they found me after a couple of hours."

"And the tree bark?" Maria prompted, distracted only when Santana came back through the doorway and with a glass of orange juice in hand.

Brittany rolled her eyes and gave a little huff, but there was laughter behind it and the woman knew it was in good fun. "I was _seven_," she defended, accepting the glass from Santana with a hummed '_thanks' _and a smile.

"Don't worry, Britts," the dark girl reassured her, "I thought it was cute."

Watching the two of them interact, Maria found herself grinning for an entirely different reason. She'd never seen her Santana so soft with someone before and it was such a refreshing scene that the _hows _and the _whys _and the _whats _didn't matter. All she had ever wanted was that smile for her daughter and if this fair-headed girl was the one to put it there, then that was what she was going to focus on. "Brittany, dear," she couldn't help but ask, her voice lilting with just a hint of teasing, "Why didn't you just tell me you didn't like coffee?"

Brittany furrowed her brow gently over bright blue eyes and she frowned like the thought of mentioning it to the woman hadn't even crossed her mind and when she turned to Santana for help Maria realized that it _hadn't_. Santana, on the other hand, was more than amused by her friend's lack of understanding and snickered into the mug she'd taken from the dancer. "Isn't it obvious, Mom?" she questioned, giving the girl next to her a half fond, half exasperated look, "She didn't want to be rude."

"Didn't want to be rude," her mother repeated thinly, frowning around the words and tasting them for the first time. She shot her daughter a pointed look, "What a novel concept."

But Santana was in too good a mood for her mother's antics to bring her down. She returned the woman's look with a toothy grin and a wink before shifting in her seat to face Brittany, effectively shutting her mom out of her mind. She let her fingers twitch against the soft skin at the inside of the light girl's wrist as it lay on the table between them. "So, our plan for the day is entirely up to you, B, whatever you want to do."

She watched as the dancer's body shook, just noticeably under her hand, and any number of thoughts flickered across her eyes making them go dark then bright again. She wanted to know exactly what was happening in her head, wished she knew what it meant when Brittany bit the inside of her cheek or why she always looked off slightly to the right when asked to make a decision. She wanted to ask, prompt her to get it out verbally so she would automatically the next time it happened, but Santana was sharply reminded that they were not alone at that table when she heard the grinding scrape of ceramic against wood and her mother brought herself back into awareness.

Santana ducked her head and withdrew her hand as slowly, missing the way Brittany's fingers twitched as if she wanted to stop the motion but couldn't bring herself to do it. Maria stood up and waited until she had to attention of both girls before speaking. "Whatever you do today, girls, just try and be safe and make sure you're back at a decent hour. And remember, we have the Theatre tomorrow evening and I expect the both of you to be dressed and ready to go to diner by five. Are we clear?" she asked, shifting her pointed gaze from one girl to the other and back and fighting back to urge to laugh at her daughter's look of high suspicion. "What?" she asked after a long pause of it.

"Where's the rest of it? The 'make sure you check in' or 'I want to know where you'll be at all times' or 'maybe I should go with you'," and when Maria shook her head like she didn't know what was being references, Santana narrowed her eyes, "What's your angle, woman?"

"Santana!" Brittany sounded scandalized at the dark girl's tone and Maria hid a smirk behind her long-empty coffee mug.

"Honestly, sweetheart," she rolled her eyes in a fair imitation of her daughter's signature expression, "You've been after me for ages to start treating you like an adult and I suppose now is as good a time as any. Besides," she threw over her shoulder as she entered the kitchen to pour herself another cup, "I'm sure that Brittany is _more _than capable of keeping you out of trouble."

Santana blinked, feeling like she should have felt slighted or upset or _something _but Brittany was jumping up to quickly follow the older woman into the kitchen and smiling so widely that all she could do was listen with a curious sense of relief at the _oomph _that meant the girl had probably lifted her mother clean off the ground in a hug. Her mom trusted her to hang out with Brittany, hell, her mom _liked _Brittany.

Now if she could only figure out why that seemed to matter so damn much she'd be set.

!

Saturday morning dawned much too brightly for one Quinn Fabray. She'd spent the better part of the night and early morning on the phone with Rachel, talking about nothing, sharing secrets, making plans. She had felt an intense overtaking of contentment under the cover of darkness but here in the shining light of daytime is was all to easy to see the things she had tried to hide.

She tried to picture what she would be doing if she had told Brittany that she wanted to stay the rest of break in Lima, and it was all too easy to imagine what it would be like to wake up again next to her girlfriend. She thought about what weekend mornings meant in the Pierce household, about the never ending pancake versus waffle debate that Joey and Kate continued to rehash while Aubrey was in the background arguing the properties of a proper egg white breakfast and Brittany wondered why could never have spaghetti for breakfast. She thought about Mrs. Pierce harping on Mr. Pierce until he finally broke down and dragged the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic.

Kate would try to wheedle one more game of croquette out of them before they had to take the set up from the backyard for winter and Joey would only agree if they would play with accents. Aubrey, of course, would roll her eyes and act like it was a burden but she'd be the one to take it the most seriously, insisting that etiquette and proper slang be used. Brittany would lose interest half way through, the game never moving fast enough to keep her attention, but she'd spend most of the time trying to knock her smallest sister's ball out of Quinn's way because she knew how much the brown-eyed girl hated to lose to Kate.

A trip to the mall would almost be considered a must. And while the Pierce daughters would walk around making up lists for the upcoming holidays and generally unaware of the stares they were getting from the general public, Quinn would be the odd one out, quiet as she tried to hide the way she would stare at happy families with doting fathers and supportive mothers and feel like she'd had something very precious stolen from her.

She would think she'd been more subtle about it, until they'd be in the parking lot and Brittany would draw her to the side, gently by the elbow, and ask if she wanted to stop by her parents' later that night in her quiet, _I-see-more-than-people-think _voice. It'd hurt, the same that it always did, and she'd have to shake her head 'no' and Brittany would nod with a frown and then do everything she could think of to make her smile.

They might go for a ride on Brittany's motorcycle late into the afternoon, further into town than the day before. Maybe to the school were they spent four hellish years, or to the Dairy Queen were Brittany first asked her out or even further out to park on the other side of town were they met when Quinn moved to Lima in the second first grade. On the ride home, back to Brittany's, she would guide them through Quinn's old neighborhood and slow down when she came to the entrance of the _cul-de-sac _that housed the large three story cookie cutter home in which Judy and Russell Fabray lived. And idling there would hurt as much as she imagined it would and despite how much she would hate it, Brittany would sit there until Quinn would squeeze her to the point of cracking ribs and then she'd take them far and fast away.

Dinner would be almost done when they did finally make it back to the farmhouse, a collaborative effort of Brittany's sisters where Kate would be cackling and Joey would be covered in _something _and Aubrey would be ordering Brittany and Quinn to set the table because they didn't help with the food. They would all sit down together, all seven of them plus whichever members of the family in the area showed up in time, and after they would do the dishes, maybe play a board game that Kate would win unless it involved pure knowledge in which Aubrey would destroy her.

They would go to bed, Quinn and Brittany back in the basement despite the fact that her room was probably free. Brittany would pull her close, wrap her in blankets and her arms and when all the noise upstairs finally stopped she would ask if Quinn wanted to talk about it. She would say no -she always said no- and then it would all pour out and she would talk until she ran out of words and hate every second of it because she would be able to hear the sounds and smell the smells and feel everything from the night her dad kicked her out.

She would get mad, because it was the easiest thing to feel when she was empty, and Brittany would get the brunt of it like she had for years because she was the only person Quinn could hurt again and again and know that she would never leave her. She would say things she didn't mean, hurting, spiteful words that would roll off of Brittany's back but sting on the way down. And then when even that was gone she would cry some more, and there would be lips pressed tightly against her forehead and Quinn would feel comfort she didn't deserve but Brittany wouldn't let go and she would tell her she loved her and Quinn would repeat it back and mean it. They would fall asleep, Quinn fitful and Brittany hesitant and in the morning they would act like everything was perfect.

It was so easy to see, to feel, that when Quinn opened her eyes in her dorm room in New York her vision was blurred by the tears she would have shed in Lima.

!

"Am I boring you or something?" Santana asks after catching Brittany check her phone for the fourth time in twenty minutes and she's so legitimately upset by the notion that she doesn't even have to fake it in her voice.

Brittany jerked her head up, distracted for a moment by the way Santana was biting at the hotdog in her hand that she promptly forgot what was just said to her. "Huh?"

The darker girl made a vague motion to the cherry red device in the taller girl's hand and frowned, "Waiting for a better offer?"

The confusion didn't clear up immediately and when she looked back down to where the screen was still showing her missed calls and texts she took the question literally. "No," she locked the phone and slipped it into the back pocket of her pants, "Just Quinn."

Santana felt her shoulders tense and nodded slowly. It was easy to forget sometimes, that Brittany was dating her roommate. She didn't know if the blonde did it on purpose or not, but she tended not to talk about her whenever Santana was around and the dark girl was very willing to follow the 'out of sight, out of mind' adage when it came to Fabray. "Oh," she found herself glaring at the food in her hand, suddenly not hungry, and offered it to Brittany who wrinkled her nose at the mustard and relish but took it anyway. "She supposed to call you?"

Mouth full of food, Brittany just shrugged and made a motion to a nearby park bench. Santana sat, crossing her legs and waited for Brittany to sit next to her and swallow before raising an eyebrow. It wasn't so much that she wanted to talk about the dancer's girlfriend, she was actually in a better place altogether when she was ignoring the fact that the girl in question even existed, but if Brittany wanted to talk about it then she should to, right? Not caring about other people before made it hard to figure out the social niceties now.

"I'm not really sure," she finally answered, twisting her gloved fingers together in her lap and slouching further into the wooden bench, her knee brushing against Santana's. "We, like, don't really fight a lot so I never know who's supposed to call who first."

"You guys had a fight?" she couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. She knew it had to be something like that, something to bring Brittany down out of the rainbow world she tended to reside in but it hadn't _really _occurred to her. Weren't people supposed to yell more, maybe cry a little bit? Call and leave vindictive messages or try and get back at the other person by taking home someone else and, _wow_, okay maybe Santana didn't have the healthiest response to hurt and anger but at least she had one. Brittany just looked _sad_.

Maybe that was worse.

The dancer was tilting her mouth downwards, watching the tips of her shoes scoff against the concrete, and weighed her words carefully before speaking them. "It's like, we were _home_, you know?" she glanced up through her eyelashes and Santana could only nod at the lost look swimming in blue eyes. "Only she wasn't there, I mean, she was _there _there, but she wasn't _there _and I," Brittany laid her head back and rested her neck over the back of the bench awkwardly, "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

Santana dropped a hand onto Brittany's thigh and gave her a single, gentle squeeze, "You were home and she wasn't. People can be standing next to each other and be in entirely different places, Britt-Britt." She shrugged, a tad uncomfortable under the intense look she was now getting from the blonde, "I get that."

Brittany nodded, sitting up again, "She didn't want to be there, she wanted to be here. So I brought her here."

"But you don't want to be here," the smaller girl supplied, painfully and inexplicably aware of the hurt that came with the observation.

"No!" Brittany was quick to defend, lurching forward and reaching out the fold her hands over Santana's. "I love New York, and everything about this city and I especially love hanging out with you. I just, I missed my family. My sisters and my parents. I missed my bike and my house. I missed Lima." She was so earnest and serious and sad that Santana felt incredibly bad about her reaction, "I just wasn't ready to come back yet."

She was back to looking down and for a moment Santana just looked at her, looked at her hunched shoulders and her bent neck and her hands clenching the edge of the bench like she might fall off, and it took another moment to realize that it was more than just hurt radiating from the dancer. There was anger too, anger she was trying like hell to hide.

"Hey," Santana murmured low, like she would to a frightened animal or a massively drunk Puck. "Hey," she repeated, twisting slightly so that it was easier to slip an arm over Brittany's shoulders and tug at her until the girl was practically curled in her lap, "You're allowed to be mad, you know." Brittany shook her head against Santana's shoulder and the dark girl tucked her cheek against the crown of blonde hair, wrapping her other arm around Brittany. "You are," she assured her, "You're allowed to be mad and angry and upset and hey, you know," she reached down to curl a finger under Brittany's chin and tilt it up until she was looking her in the eye, "You're even allowed to hate her a little bit if you want. I swear I won't tell anyone."

"Yeah?" blue eyes blinked, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Cross my heart," Santana promised, following it with the appropriate motion over her chest.

Brittany threw her arms over Santana's shoulders, pulling her in close and rocking her back and forth in her exuberance, "You're the best, San."

Glad that her face was tucked away so that the blush that had surely stolen over her cheeks and down the back of her neck wasn't completely obvious she laughed, "Damn straight."

Brittany held on tightly for a few seconds longer, enough for Santana to raise her hands and brush them along the space between the dancer's shoulder blades, and when she did finally let go she looked impossibly brighter, like the tension had gone out of her neck and shoulders. She grinned, "Want to go to the Statue of Liberty and act like foreign tourists and try to make the guide cry?"

It was so random, so completely off topic of anything they had talked about all day and so _Brittany _that Santana gave her an incredulous look at the brilliance of it. "Britts, that may be the single, greatest idea I've ever heard in my life."

!

Daniel Lopez was on his best behavior. Or he was supposed to be, according to his wife and implied in the way his pride and joy would narrow her eyes at him whenever he would open his mouth to make a comment during dinner Sunday night. He was sure this fair-headed child that had befriended his daughter was lovely, with her beautifully symmetric smile and incredible posture but he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to her when he wasn't allowed to _say _anything. It was a tense affair as between the two most important women in his live, he wasn't allowed to get a word in edgewise and it was making him petulant.

Which is probably why when he found himself standing alone with her outside the theatre later that evening he found himself at a serious lose for words. He took a deep breath, clicked his back teeth, glancing around for where the hell his wife and daughter had gotten to and finally letting himself notice that the rather tall girl next to him looked just as uncomfortable as he felt. "Jujube?" he offered, pulling a bright green box from his jacket pocket and holding it out to her.

She regarded it warily in his hand, flicking her eyes to his face and back before tilting her head and frowning, "You aren't going to ask me if I want to see the puppy in the back of your van if I take one, are you?"

Daniel tilted his head in the opposite way and raised an eyebrow, "It's a bicycle."

Brittany pressed her lips, nodding thoughtfully, "Does it have a bell?"

"And tassels," he tossed out there like a bonus, shaking the box of candy. She held his gaze solidly, and what impressed him was the fact that she held her face even when his own lips started to twitch. And then she shrugged and took the box from him and he snorted outright. "It's the mustache, isn't it? Maria's been after me to shave it for weeks now."

"Why don't you?" she asked curiously, wedging her nail under the top edge of the candy box, pulling it open and it was his turn to shrug.

"Because, child," he winked at her, holding out his palm for her to shake a handful of jujubes into, "if I did everything she wanted me to do right away then she would _know _how well she had me whipped. And where's the fun in that?" Brittany grinned at that and while Daniel still had her attention, he popped a bright red candy into his mouth and waved a hand in a round about motion. "So, are you sleeping with my daughter?"

The girl choked on the candy in her mouth, coughing and sputtering and Daniel felt awful but when he went to help she just waved him off. "I have a girlfriend," she stuttered, slapping the flat of her palm against her chest.

"That's not what I asked," he pointed out gently, curling one hand around her elbow and rubbing the other over her back. "I'm sorry, child, are you alright?"

"Fine," she coughed, blinking the water from her eyes, "And no. I'm not, I mean, San and I, we're," her chin jerked and her eyes dimmed as she lost herself in a thought that she quickly shook herself out of, "No. Santana and I are just friends. We aren't sleeping together."

"Oh," he drew his heavy eyebrows downward and he continued to try help her breath, "I am sorry, Brittany. I didn't mean to imply anything by it, or startle you so, I just find that the easiest way to garner an honest answer is to ask the question when it's unprecedented."

The blue eyes watching him were blank and more than slightly skeptical and from the corner of his eye he saw Maria and Santana appear from around the corner where they had apparently parked the car. He fumbled mentally for a way to explain himself, separately quite impressed with his wife and daughter's forethought on keeping him silent, but before he could rearrange his words Brittany was nodding, "Okay, I get that but next time just try and make sure I don't have something in my mouth."

"I think I can do that," he smiled genially, squeezing her elbow, "It's a bit of a shame though. You have fantastic musculature, I bet you'd give Santana a better run for her money than that Puckerman boy she used to see. Plus," he stroked at his facial hair like the thought had just come to him, "it would ease my mind of this fear I have of being an young grandfather."

"You're really strange, Dr. Lopez," Brittany pointed out to him as they were joined by the two others in their little party and he snorted again.

Tugging at one side of his mustache, Daniel shrugging modestly, "If you're not going to be nice I won't share my candy." She shook her hand to remind him that she was still holding the box of candy and he frowned at the sight of it. "Well, then, I guess you can forget about that bike then, huh?"

"Dad, what the hell are you talking about?" Santana broke in, eyeing the two of them as they started to grin like maniacs and looking eerily similar to her mother in that moment. Brittany didn't take the bait and for that Daniel was grateful, instead she again shook the box of candy still in her hand but this time at the smaller girl, offering "_Jujube_?" like it was nothing as she lead her towards the entrance of the theatre.

"Well?" Maria raised her eyebrow, tapping the toe of her boot and crossing her arms.

"You were right, dear," he conceded and offered his arm rather than an explanation, moving to lead her to follow the two girls sedately, "We _do _like her."

!

"So," Santana kicked at the ground and tucked her hands into the front pockets of her jacket, standing in compatible silence outside of Brittany's building later that night. From the corner of her eye, she watched as Brittany mimicked the action, her own hands slipping into the dark zip-up hoodie Santana had let her borrow the day before for their visit to Central Park.

The dancer grinned at her, dipping just low enough to bump her shoulder against the smaller girl. "So," she repeated, twitching her eyebrows and vibrating with every step she took.

"I'm sorry I sort of hijacked your weekend."

Brittany hummed and as Santana turned to watch her, the blonde raised a shoulder in nonchalance. "I'm not."

It was such a simple response, so clean cut and easy that Santana was caught off guard by it. She thought about it, about every second she spent with the blonde dancer and wondered if any of it was something she could ever express regret over, but even those weirdly tense moments shared with her parents were times she couldn't imagine giving up. "Me either," she agreed and returned the smile Brittany gave her. Taking a breath, she tried to think of something to say but before she could come up with words they were both distracted by a familiar voice shouting down from the top of the steps of the building.

"_You're alive! You're alive_!" And then Mike Chang was _there_, picking Brittany up by the hips and spinning her once, twice, three times before dropping her to her feet and pulling her into a hug that ripped laughter from her throat and blossomed a smile across Santana's lips.

Behind him, approaching at a much more acceptable pace, Tina waved a hand in the tanned girl's direction. She returned it with a half smile and a "Hey."

"Hey," the gothic girl grinned and with a hand tipped in dark nail polish indicated the pair hugging exuberantly on the sidewalk, "How was your break, Santana?"

"Good," she answered automatically, momentarily distracted when _Brittany _picked up _Mike _and spun him around. "Yours?"

"Pretty good," Tina smiled, "I missed Mike though, and it was weird going back to sleeping in a room without Brittany."

Like speaking her name was enough to conjure the blonde, Brittany slid into the space behind the tiny girl and slipped her arms around her waist, "I missed you too, T!"

While they greeted one another, Santana only warning was the musky scent of Mike's cologne in her nose before a heavy feeling arm was draped over her shoulders and she was being pulled into a one armed hug by Brittany's dance partner. "You know," he whispered conspiratorially into her ear, "When I asked you to take care of her for me, hot stuff, I didn't think you'd hold her hostage for two days."

She nudged him gently with her elbow, trying to put some space between them- not that she felt entirely uncomfortable under his arm but she couldn't seem to breath properly with its pressure there. "There wasn't exactly an itinerary I could call you up with, Sensation, it just sort of happened that way."

"Just sort of happened, eh?" he teased, pulling her in quickly and letting her go as soon as she tensed further. "Forty-eight hours is a long time, Spitfire, everything still golden with you two?"

His tone was light but the intensity in his eyes wasn't something she could brush off as easily. Checking to make sure Brittany was still distracted by her roommate, Santana answered the question he was really asking. "We didn't really talk about anything, but I still don't know what was bothering her."

"Oh," he waved a hand between them, "I already know what's bothering her, that was never the problem. The problem was that she was thinking too much, you know?" His smile turned soft at the look she was giving him, "Santana, you can't solve other people's problems for them and I didn't call you because I wanted you to fix her. I called you because she needed a friend that she didn't think had expectations for her. I called you for that," he pointed at Brittany, whose open split of a grin lit up her eyes and reflected in her vibrant movements. "You're a good friend, Santana, and I can't ever thank you enough for it," he punched her very lightly on the arm he teased her, "You did good, kid."

"What are you guys over here gossiping about?" Tina asked, nuzzling up next to Mike whom he obliged by slipping an arm over her shoulders.

"Me and B," he answered, winking at Santana. "I am thoroughly convinced Bright Eyes couldn't have gone a whole two days without taking off her shirt and I want to know who she thinks has the better abs."

Brittany hip checked her partner before sidling up to Santana, hands back in her pockets and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I was totally good this weekend, Mikey," she nudged the smaller girl next to her, "Tell him, San."

Santana nodded in agreement, "I can tell you she was properly clothed the entire time. But now that the question is out there..."

Santana had never been considered a good friend before and, to be completely honest, friend had always been a bit of a stretch for her but Brittany made it easy. She wanted to be there for her, wanted to be the one the dancer called when she had a problem and despite what Mike had said, she wanted to fix everything that ever went wrong for her. Maybe that was what he had meant, the desire without the ability to execute. Or maybe it was something completely different because standing there, right next to her, feeling her laughter in the air and watching the minute traces of everything she was feeling flash like quicksilver in her eyes, it felt too small to be the end stage for them. It _felt _like a step, but to what Santana couldn't even begin to guess.

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts?<em>

Here are mine: Favorite part of _Michael_? The cellists in Smooth Criminal. Favorite part of _The Spanish Teacher_? Ricky Martin.

Also, I don't think anyone properly understands how badly I want a cookie right now...


	15. In Which Something Must Be Done

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: So work has kind of taken over my life and I have less free time now than ever. But lucky for you all I'm on vacation this week and I have nothing better to do than hang out at Starbucks, type and make friends with the barista. Her name is Ariel. She writes Flyer as my name on my coffee. I'm not sure why…

* * *

><p>Coming back early hadn't turned out quite the way Quinn had planned. Not that there was a plan, per say, but the fact that she spent the majority of the weekend alone was a clear indicator that she had miscalculated. She spent a lot of time texting back and forth with Rachel, but the dark-haired theatre major had a dedication to her family's holiday plans that Quinn hadn't anticipated and she couldn't seem to get the smaller girl to duck out of them for anything longer than a quick phone call. Brittany, on the other hand, wasn't even letting her have that.<p>

She didn't like the feeling of being out of sync that she got when she couldn't get a hold of the other blonde, it was something that had rarely happened over the course of their friendship and never to this degree. Quinn had lost count of the times she'd tried to contact the dancer without any success and what upset her most was that she knew all she needed was just one connected phone call to make it alright again. If Brittany would just answer, she could sooth things over and get them back to the way they were. If she just had a moment to _explain_, well, she had always been able to get the other blonde to come around if she could just talk to her, get her to listen.

Except that Brittany wouldn't pick up the damn phone. And Rachel was busy.

And Quinn was getting seriously frustrated.

The only other person she actually knew in New York was her roommate and Quinn was far from desperate enough for _that. _So she spent the majority of her weekend alone, speaking most often to the barista at the coffee shop around the corner and waiting for Monday to come around so she could at least _see_ Rachel. It would be in lab, but after the last few days she was willing to take what ever she could get.

Unfortunately, Quinn hadn't quite figured out how to speed time yet so Sunday night found her laid out on her bed, where she felt rather than heard her phone go off against her hip. Sitting up halfway she pulled the buds from her ears and raised the screen to where she could see it. The number was one she recognized, as was the name under and with a curious frown she turned off her music completely and answered. "I thought the shunning would take a little longer."

"What are you talking about? Who's shunning you? Better yet, why?" Kate asked rapidly, sounding genuinely confused and Quinn took the slightest bit of comfort in it. "Oh wait," the was a snap in the background, "Because of what JoJo said?"

She pressed her lips down and ignored the gnawing feeling at her stomach, "Yeah."

"Oh please, Eeyore," the rolling of her eyes came across the airwaves loud and clear, "If you were shunned who would I battle wits with? After you, the closest thing I have to a legitimate opponent is Aubrey and that bitch uses _logic_. Like, seriously, what the hell is that shit?"

"Sounds just awful," Quinn folded down a dog-eared corner of Paradise Lostand set the book aside.

Kate huffed on the other end, "Your sincerity is lacking, Q, and I don't appreciate it. Here I am, calling to see if you're alright, making sure you haven't thrown yourself from the GW Bridge or whatever other overly dramatic bullshit you might come up with and all I get is sarcasm? Not cool, Cheerio, not cool at all."

It was Kate's way of saying she was genuinely worried without drawing attention to the fact that was and it was something Quinn was used to from the smallest Pierce. Between the two of them it is was a common game and she was versed enough to play. "In that case please accept my _most_ _sincere_ apology, K," she turned her voice and chuckled, "I wasn't aware you were only looking out for my best interests."

"I'm always looking out for your best interest," she responded quietly and the silence that followed was longer than she was used to when it came to Kate. When she did speak it was in one of those tones the older girl used rarely and Quinn didn't like to hear from her. "What's going on with you, Quinn?" she asked, too quiet in her seriousness and Quinn felt herself still at the sound of it.

"Nothing," she blinked, trying to keep the snap out if her voice but found it to be more difficult than usual. She knew Kate was only trying to help, knew that the question was meant to convey worry but it just made her feel worse. They were practically family and she had just left _home _with no real explanation, taking Brittany along with her. And no matter the story Brittany had sold to her parents, they both knew her sisters would be much more difficult to convince and it was just a matter of time before one of them called.

She should have known it would be Kate.

"Quinn-" there was a warning in her voice, a sternness that had the freshman's hackles rising.

"Don't, Kate," she responded quietly, dropping her book in her lap so she could push the heel of her hand against her brow.

She knew the quiet hum that met her ear was Kate's way of redirecting. "Okay, Eeyore," she sighed, forcing the fight from her voice, knowing it wouldn't penetrate the walls Quinn had just thrown up. "You don't have to say shit if you don't want to. You don't have to tell me why you hightailed it out of town or why you seem to think that leaving Lima in the rearview mirror is the answer to all your problems. But recognize that you've got people, okay? Just… I don't know, man, just know that, okay?"

It was meant to be reassuring, she was sure, but all it did was act as a reminder that it was more than her own history she was trying to leave behind. She remembered the last time Kate had sounded like that was the night she'd been kicked out of her parents house. Kate had sat next to her, held her hand while she sat near catatonic, half listening as Brittany talked to parents and Joey hovered in the doorway like an unsure bodyguard.

The moment of clarity that came with the knowledge that the only people she cared about, the only people that _cared about her_, were related to Brittany doubled both her anger and her guilt. But that guilt shifted, coiling like a live thing in her stomach until it froze into a form of resolve she was used to. Quinn was an adult who could handle her own business, she didn't need the unintentional guilt trip or the reminder of how tied into the one family she was. Suddenly she didn't want to talk to Kate anymore, she didn't need her to make her feel like this.

She needed things to go back to the way they were.

!

Santana hiked the bag up further over her shoulder and shook her head, trying like hell to wipe the smile from her face and knowing by the feel of it that she was failing miserably. She wasn't know for a sunny disposition, in fact, with her perchance for manipulation, sharp tongue and acid glare it was quite the opposite. Santana was angry and abrasive, dishonest and more than moderately distrustful of people who smiled for no apparent reason.

It was the reason she found this whole friendship with Brittany so damn confusing. Not because the dancer was practically her polar opposite, someone who smiled when Santana would be wrecking things and seemed to be bosom buddies with every person she'd ever met, but because it all happened so fast. The darker girl wasn't sure people were _supposed_ to mesh that well, to connect instantly and have it all sort of flow in one measured and sure direction. There had been almost no hesitation on her part, and certainly none on Brittany's end, and usually when that happened Santana found herself starting to look for backdoors and escape routes because _that_ was usually when things were about to hit the fan. But this felt different down to her very core.

She wanted to talk to Brittany all the time, wanted to make her laugh without wondering at the inexplicable twisting of her own stomach at the sound of it, she wanted to watch her dance, mesmerized at the way she controlled her body. Santana felt her face flush and wondered at the intensity of it, remembering the way it had happened at Mike's words and the way she shuddered as Brittany strung her arms around the smaller girls waist, sharing heat in the chill of the November air.

Her mind veered and the smile she'd been trying to fight dropped unbidden from her lips as she pressed the heel of her free hand against her temple. Brittany was a very touchy-feely sort of person by nature and with it she conveyed a lot about how she felt about people but the level of comfort she demonstrated with Santana was astounding. People didn't trust her- for good reason, she was sure- but the dancer never even seemed to flinch, not after that first time at the club.

She smiled again as she twisted the key in the lock, thinking about asking about when they would go out dancing again, eager to see what else Brittany could do to a pounding beat and willing rhythm. She was sure her hair should be on fire from the heat of her neck and she had never been more grateful to be greeted by an empty room as she was when she stumbled through the door right then. God, if Quinn had seen…

Quinn.

Well, that certainly wiped any pleasant thoughts from her mind as she glanced around the room to make sure she truly was alone and made her way to the other room to toss her stuff at the foot of her bed. How had she forgotten about her roommate? _Again_. Pinching her face into a frown, she balled her fists at her hips and realized that it didn't matter the relationship between her and Brittany because it would always be tainted by the presence of Quinn _mother fucking _Fabray.

"Fuck," she groaned, kicking off her shoes and collapsing sideways onto her bed. Good mood wrecked she wondered briefly where the blonde-haired harlot could possibly be at this hour, but Santana knew the _where _wasn't making her nearly as angry as the _who with_ and the fact that she was getting angry at all was a point of concern. Santana Lopez didn't care about other people's feelings, she didn't try to sugar coat things and when other people cried she tended to feel more annoyed than sympathetic but the very _idea_ that Brittany would be hurt by Quinn was making her see red.

_Jesus,_ she thought, _how could _anyone_ step out on Brittany? If she were _my_ girlfriend, I wouldn't… I would…_

Fuck.

She was too tired to think properly, that had to be it. She was exhausted and the rapid shift of emotions in such a short period of time certainly couldn't have helped because there was no way she could, no way she _would_ entertain the notion of something like that. Not her. Not _that_.

She rolled over on the bed, dragging the blanket with her and reaching up to fold her pillow over her head and bury herself in the mattress. Too tired, she thought, and without even bothering to prepare for bed she fell asleep.

!

Brittany slipped the dark material of Santana's hoodie from her shoulders and smiled at the feel of it bunched in her hands before shaking it out and hanging it over the back of her desk chair. She sighed happily, basking slightly in the knowledge that she was lucky enough to have found a friend like Santana in a city as big as New York. The darker girl just seemed to make it easier in a way she hadn't expected being as far from home as she was. And yes, it did help to have Mike there (more than she thought he was aware of) and Tina was like a grounding rod she didn't know she was missing but there was still that sense of effort with them. Like she was supposed to be a certain person, act a certain way, and with Santana she was just… herself.

It was an incredibly freeing feeling and for someone who was as flighty as Brittany was known for being, it was almost terrifying.

Ever since she was little she'd had Quinn by her side being the voice of reason, quelling her more ludicrous ideas and promoting her own ideology of what they needed to be. Brittany had been so used to following where the smaller blonde had lead her, tethered by awe and adoration, that she'd never thought about what it could mean to make the plans herself. Mike had given her a taste of that, loosened the coils so to speak, but she still had been working within the constrains of their shared dream of making it big. With Santana it felt like, _it felt like_, Brittany grinned, if felt like she could say she wanted to bungee jump off the Empire State Building and Santana would just shrug and find a way to make it happen.

But that sense of freedom didn't come without a heavier feeling of guilt that weighed her down and pulled her back. Constrained her.

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket -the way it had been all weekend- and the twisting in her gut thudded sharply, amplified by the fact that she was alone now and had no reason not to answer. She had almost broken her resolve that day in the park, comfortable and happy, she almost answered based on that feeling alone. But it was the startling conflict between the person she was with and the name on the screen that made her pause. It was a shock to realize for the first time in her life she didn't _want _to talk to Quinn, she wanted to laugh with Santana and make pretend that nothing outside the two of them mattered. The way it happened when they danced at the club. Brittany had liked that a lot.

Her phone buzzed again and she pulled the device out, her happiness from that weekend dissolving to the point of weariness when she spotted Quinn's name over the new message icon again. She knew it wasn't the emotion she was supposed to be feeling and guilt once more overtook it all. Granted, it was more than just her girlfriend that she had been avoiding- Joey, Kate and Aubrey all had their share of missed calls and unanswered texts- but there wasn't anything she could think to say, so she just didn't answer.

But the weekend was over and finding herself alone for the first time since she came back was making it harder for her to just not deal anymore. She flicked her thumb to open the screen.

_Please just call me._

Brittany set the phone down on the desk- screen still open and facing upward, she crossed her arms and pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and forefinger. She would call, she always did, but this sort of reluctance was new to her and it confused her more than anything else from the last few days. She wanted just a little more time to think but it was too late to head over to the practice hall and she way running out of ideas. Sighing, she started to ready herself for bed and hoping that the fresh, clean feeling from a shower would sooth some of the weight from her shoulders but before she could so much as gather her thoughts there was a knock at the door.

There was a limited number of people it could be, Tina wouldn't knock obviously and Mike would be with Tina, Santana always called up and none of the other residents on her floor (RA included) ever came by this late on a week night, not when the door was closed anyway. Curious, she opened the door without glancing through the peephole (that little habit drove Tina crazy) and blinked in surprise down at Quinn.

Her brow furrowed and she was more than a little stunned at her girlfriend's appearance at her dorm. She tried to remember if Quinn had ever been inside the building before, had even known which room was hers but was coming up blank. "What are you doing here?"

From anyone else it would have as abrupt, rude even but Quinn had known Brittany too long to take and real offence at her tones. "Can I come in?" she asked in lieu of an actual response and was shocked herself when the taller blonde took a second to actually _think _about it. She frowned, "B?"

Blue eyes blinked over a mouth twisted at the corner and Quinn knew the thoughts behind them were newly entertained. For a brief, awful second she thought Brittany might just say '_no'_ but then the dancer was dropping her eyes and moving back and out of the entrance, pulling the door with her so that Quinn could walk unhindered into the room. The smaller girl breathed a tiny sigh of relief and stepped across the threshold. She glanced around the room but haven't never been there before she knew she wouldn't recognize anything, fazed she crossed her arms over her stomach and when she turned around Brittany was watching her curiously. Her mouth went dry and she blanked, there was something she had planned on saying, some speech she had worked on in her free time over the last couple of day but standing there she couldn't seem to recall a line of it. She frowned at herself, heart lurching painfully because it hurt to realize that she had no idea what to say to her best friend. Her _girlfriend_.

To Brittany.

"Roommate not around?" she questioned to fill the void of silence, uncomfortable there.

The dancer pressed her lips and rolled the heels of her hands at the back of her hips, consciously trying not to cross her arms in a mimicry of Quinn's discomfort. "She's up in Mike's room."

"Mike? Your dance partner Mike?" surprise colored her voice and caused her to drop her arms. "Your roommate's dating your partner?"

Brittany blinked, surely they had talked about that? She must have because she loved telling people how she hooked the two of them up. Something foreign and painful shifted in her chest and she reached up to press her fingers against her breastbone, trying to alleviate some pressure. It didn't help so she shook her head and asked again, "What are you doing here, Quinn?"

Golden-green eyes dimmed and the smaller girl flexed her fingers at her sides. "You weren't answering my calls."

"Yeah, well," Brittany looked down, "I'm mad at you."

"Mad at me?" she repeated, slightly shocked at the blatant admission. She _knew_ that Brittany would be, knew it like she knew she was wrong to take advantage of her offer to bring them back to New York two days early, but Brittany had never _told_ her she was mad before. It was an emotion Brittany didn't like to feel, so she buried it or ignored it. She didn't acknowledge it. And certainly never at Quinn. "You're mad at me?" she asked again, gesturing to herself like it would clear up her confusion on the subject.

"Yes?" Brittany's shoulders fell and her confidence in the statement was half-hearted at best, but she knew even as she said it that it wasn't the right tone. She forced herself to nod once, resolutely, and repeat, "Yes, I'm mad at you."

"Oh," Quinn shift back a step, and bit the corner of her lip.

"I'm allowed to be mad, Q, I-" Brittany wanted to tell her what Santana had said, like maybe Quinn didn't know but that was ridiculous because Quinn was one of the smartest people Brittany knew and if Brittany could figure this out then _surely_ the other blonde could. But she knew that the smaller blonde always seemed to go from zero to attack whenever she mentioned the dark girl and Brittany was in no mood for that particular fight right then. But she remembered how awful she had thought she was for being angry with Quinn and the relief she had felt when Santana had told her that she was _allowed _to be mad. It hadn't felt good, but it was nice to know she wasn't necessarily _wrong_ to feel it. She twisted her fingers together and finished lamely, "I'm allowed to be mad at you."

"No, I know you are, Brittany," Quinn was reassuring her, shaking her head like she meant to clear it. This side of Brittany was new for her- unexpected- and she was going to have to find a different approach for it. "I was wrong, we should have stayed in Lima," her eyes were unfocused as she sighed and shook her head. "God," she sat heavily in the chair by the desk she knew to by Brittany's by the knick-knacks on it and dragged her hand through her hair, "This is such a mess."

Brittany didn't say anything but Quinn could tell by the way she scoffed her shoes that she agreed.

!

When Tina finally made it back to her room well past midnight she was greeted with the unfamiliar sight of Brittany sulking in her desk chair with shoulders to her ears and feet propped up on the desk. The hoodie she had watched Santana blushingly tell the dancer to '_keep until next time' _was pulled up over her head and the girl appeared to have attempted to bury herself in the material. Alarm bells didn't start going off until she stopped to listen for a second and couldn't hear any music playing. Between the two of them music was always playing.

"Brittany?" she questioned softly, slipping the strap of her purse from her shoulder and locking the door quietly behind her.

There was no answer and more importantly no movement and Tina felt panic creep up at her throat until she moved to touch her roommate at the shoulder and caught sight of the familiar white cord to tell her the blonde had headphones in. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as she lightly brushed her knuckles against Brittany's shoulder. Blue eyes turned to her and the corner of her lip turned up but the dancer looked troubled as Tina gently pulled the bud from her ear.

"You look like you're thinking pretty hard there, Bright Eyes," she observed, using the nickname Mike had for the girl but the smile she got was a much more sedate version of any she had ever seen it garner before.

Brittany's shoulder shrugged under her hand and she pulled the other bud out before returning her hands to the front pockets of her hoodie. "Quinn stopped by earlier," she told her without emotion and Tina frowned. As far as she knew Brittany's girlfriend hadn't ever stopped by and if what Mike had told her earlier was true then Tina didn't think she ever would. Apparently they were both wrong.

"What did she say?" The gothic girl asked, shifting slightly until she was standing behind the blonde. She dropped her other hand onto Brittany's shoulder, kneading her thumbs lightly into the muscle there. Brittany appeared too deep in thought to notice but Tina could feel her tension start to loosen as her shoulders dropped.

"She said she was sorry," she tensed again quickly and Tina stopped her motion. "She said she shouldn't have let me bring her back here early. That she was wrong."

"And?" she asked, moving back enough to pull the hood off of Brittany's golden touched head.

"I said it was okay," the dancer mumbled, dropping her chin to her chest and touching her knuckles together through the pockets. "We made up, she left."

Tina wrinkled her nose at her roommate, "And when you say 'made up' you don't mean, eh…"

The corner of Brittany's mouth turned up in a half smirk as she rolled her eyes at small girl. "No, not like that," shaking her head just the slightest bit she pressed her lips and looked down thoughtfully at her lap.

The darkly painted girl let her think for a moment before chucking a knuckle lightly at the edge of her jaw, "So things okay with you two?"

"Yeah, of course," Brittany turned curious eyes at her, "Why wouldn't they be?"

Tina didn't say anything and instead raised a single eyebrow and cast a slow, deliberate look around the dark room she'd found her roommate in, awake and glaring at the wall less than half an hour ago. Thinking about her girlfriend and wrapped in someone else's jacket. She gave her roommate a look.

"We're fine, T," the dancer dropped her long legs from the desk and pushed herself to a upright position, "Everything's back to normal now."

"If you say so, sweetie," Tina sighed and pressed a kiss to the crown of Brittany's head to hide the fact that she couldn't exactly control her frown. Her roommate was such a terrible liar. And she had given Mike her word that she wouldn't interfere. It was going to take her a couple days to figure out to get around that particular promise because this side of Brittany was not one she could handle for long.

* * *

><p>My roommate and I threw a dart at a map. Apparently we're road tripping to St. Louis so that we can go to the top of the Gateway Arch. Yeah, because he doesn't approve of my doing nothing on my vacation we're driving for seven hours so that he can drag someone who is afraid of heights to the top of a 630 foot structure. I see no way this could possibly go wrong.<p> 


	16. In Which You Have To Ask First

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi and This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: So, I'm not sure apologizing is going to cover it but I'll try any ways. _I am so very, very sorry for the wait._ I just- life, you know? And work. I work a lot. If you guys want to call my boss and tell her to give me more time off, well, that would just be aces. I'm going to go take a nap now.

PS: For those of you giving up sleep and/study time to read… Guys! _Guys_, darlings, dear hearts… There's a legitimate hierarchy of important things in life and those are near the top (sleep especially, I'm a major advocate for sleep) and I'm _waaaay_ at the bottom. But thank you, from the top of my heart, thanks : )

* * *

><p>Brittany set her hands hard on her hips and bent herself slightly at the waist, stopping as the solid orange hand meant for her to do. She was breathing heavy, heavier than she was used to during her morning run but she supposed that was what happened when she added an extra two miles to her normal route. It couldn't be helped though, she needed to move and she needed to not think and she needed more time than she normally gave herself.<p>

There was a disquiet to her normal internal radio, like it was stuck between two stations and all she was getting was static and white noise. It was subtle at first, just a jab of sound out of place, and it quieted when she danced or when she was distracted. But lately it was getting to be louder, harder to ignore and it got worse whenever she tried to pretend everything was alright with her girlfriend. There were cracks in their foundation, cracks that were fracturing something within her, something sitting leaden in the pit of her stomach that made her hesitate before reaching out her hand whenever they managed to see one another. Something she saw in the force of Quinn's smile.

She loved Quinn, she knew she did, and Quinn loved her. But her world was spinning around her like she was living in a snow globe that some giant wouldn't stop shaking back and forth and upside down. Her entire being felt stilted and shifted and her feet fell where she directed them, but to do so required so much more force than she was used to.

She didn't like stumbling about like a child taking its first steps. She didn't like not knowing how to talk to Quinn but she wondered if she ever really had known how to. Their dance together was always a little precarious, with so many steps back for every step forward and when Brittany tried the trace it from beginning to end she wasn't sure how they had ever made progress. It confused her, thinking those thoughts because when had she started to question it all? Or had it been a question all along?

Quinn had always been ice. She was that soothing balm at the end of a workout, that fresh feel when she flashed one of her rare, eye bright, dimple revealing, true and genuine smiles. And yet, she could feel it starting to burn where it had once been cool and now it was a different kind of ache that tattooed her ribcage and the back of her neck. The worst of it was that she couldn't say for certain that she didn't like it, the heat that was. There was something there, like a bonfire on a summer night or the shine of stars in a black sky, something that drew her in despite the possibility of getting burned or the impossibility of distance.

The light changed and traffic shifted and across the way the little man told her she was allowed to cross the street and Brittany kept running, determined not to think.

!

November faded into December with the haze of quickly setting winter. The temperature dropped daily and the sky began to spit out thick flakes of snow to powder the campus like it meant to coat it in a white blanket. Mike had always loved winter, loved the crisp clean feeling of the air, the spirit of the season and the genuine quality of human nature that it had the capability of bringing out.

The snow that had fallen the night before was the powdery sort, too cold for packing and good only for the sight of it but it was enough to cover the ground and more than enough to make him homesick for his mother's hot cocoa and his brother's bright laughter as they tumbled together down a snowy hill on the family toboggan. He missed the rolling cadence of his grandmother's stories and his father's firm hand on his shoulder and the slight smile at the corner of his eyes. He missed the simple quiet and the easy pace of the suburbs, but the city afforded him an opportunity that home did not. He could dance here, he had the chance to make something of his passion in New York. He could be happy here.

Mike tucked his hands deep into the pockets of his winter jacket and shrugged up the woolen scarf to his ears before stepping out of his dorm building into the cold. He was almost at the commons for breakfast when he caught a flash of blonde in his peripheral and felt a smile pull at his lips. He might have been homesick, standing there in the ankle deep drift, but he knew that as long as he had Brittany he would always have a piece of home with him.

Her head was down and her focus inward, but she was heading straight for him. "Hey, Bright Eyes!" he shouted, reached out to curl a hand around her elbow just as she jogged past him. The music blasting from the white buds in her ears was loud but she jerked up at his touch and in the turn it took to stop her momentum she smiled to match his own. "Hey, Mikey," she breathed heavy, tugging wearily at the cable at her neck.

Her face was flushed and the sweat gathering at her hairline and the base of her neck was starting to steam. She breathed and her whole upper body shook at the depth of it.

"You been playing in the snow without me?" he teased, brushing snow off the top of her head and bringing his hands to her shoulders so he could turn up the collar of her North Face against the wind.

"No," she shook her head, taking the question seriously, "Just out for a run."

"Oh?" Mike grinned, taking a step back and an exaggerated look at her outfit. Blue eyes rolled upward as she swiped a hand at his midsection and laughed outright as he danced gracefully just out of reach. He stuck his tongue out at her and almost missed the way she growled in response, surging forward to swing again. Around they went, kicking up snow and drawing not so much as a second glance from any of the other early risers out that morning, until Mike's laughter started to freeze in his chest and he couldn't catch his breath for the sound of it. Finally he grabbed at Brittany's hand, spinning her solidly under his arm, blinking as she appeared next to him suddenly. "Nooo-!" he cried dramatically, shivering full-bodied when she tugged at the collar of his jacket and the handful of snow she'd had magically disappeared down the back of his shirt. He stumbled, tripped, and ended up ass first in a snowdrift piled on the side of the walkway.

He must have looked a mess, clawing desperately at his back, because his partner was currently doubled over on herself wheezing out a battered laugh and trying to regain the balance she'd lost when he'd gone down. It must have been too much though because it only took a soft tap with his foot against the back of her knee to bring her down- directly on top of him and a fresh peal of laughter shook them both once more.

It took few minutes for them to calm down enough to pull themselves out of the freezing snow and every glance at the other brought on a fresh round of giggles, but eventually they made it to their feet and after dusting themselves off Mike slung his arm back over her shoulders.

"Thanks."

He hummed, not bothering to ask what she was thanking him for. Mike could read it in her body for the last couple of weeks the stress she'd been under. Between school and rehearsals for the winter program, and Quinn and Santana and him and Tina and every thing else she seemed to have on her plate, Brittany just needed a break every once in a while. He was always happy to oblige in that manner. But still it tugged at him. "To or from?" he asked, squeezing her tight to his side and leading them towards his original destination. Her lips pressed into a questioning frown and he clarified simply, "Your run. To or from?"

"Oh, sort of," she hummed high in her throat and dragged a pale finger through the air before them in a soft circle. "You know?"

"Yeah," Mike bobbed his head. He knew. "You want to talk about it?"

She shrugged under his arm, "After rehearsal? Maybe? I kind of just want to focus on that right now."

"Whatever you say, Bright Eyes," he pressed a brotherly kiss to her temple, and shuddered when the bits of melting ice that clung to the inside of his shirt shifted. "Dude, you shoved snow down my back."

Brittany snickered into her hand around a halfhearted apology and Mike knew that for that moment at least the world that was swirling around her was stilled and she was safe and happy and whole.

It wouldn't last, he knew that much, but right then it was all he knew how to do.

!

"You're avoiding me."

There was something to be said when the normally verbose Rachel spoke in such a succinct manner and Quinn felt the pressure at the back of her neck double under what was surely a heavy handed glare delivered by the smaller girl. The blonde didn't have to look up to know what was waiting behind her, so instead she slid her eyes shut and pressed her hands down harder on the table. The quick _tap, tap, tap _of Rachel's Mary Jane was mostly muffled by the carpeting but Quinn picked up the speedy beat quick enough, using it as a focus so she could properly think about how she was going to play this out.

"Well? I'm waiting."

Quinn let her back teeth grind together to even out the way she fluttered open her eyes and blinkingly found the petite brunette hovering over her. Rachel looked angry, she noticed first, probably because it was more than just etched across her face but also evident in the way her fists bunched at her hips and her shoulders hunched just slightly forward. It was there in the pull of smooth muscle visible just under the hem of her grey pleated skirt as her toe kept up the irritated pace she'd set for herself and Quinn failed to resist the urge to smile at the sight.

Rachel Berry would be known for her voice, of that she had no doubt, but there was more to the girl's ability then just her vocal chords. She projected emotion better than anyone Quinn had every known and when she felt something, she _felt _it with her entire body. It was amazing to behold, even when what she was feeling was anger and it was exclusively being directed at Quinn herself.

"Don't you smile at me, Quinn Fabray."

She was wagging her finger in the blonde's face now, true frustration breaking through that carefully crafted look of dissatisfaction but it did nothing to quell the amusement Quinn felt. Having spent the majority of her life slipping into a mask to hide everything she had ever felt, and having dealt with Brittany's tendency to shut down inwardly at every upsetting thing, Rachel's propensity for _over_reacting was probably her favorite thing about her. That or her hands. Rachel had such _beautiful _hands.

Hands that were currently twisting up in the air as their owner spun on the heel of her highly polished shoe in preparation to walk away. Away from Quinn.

"_Shit_," she groaned, scrambling when the legs of her chair wouldn't slide over the carpet as fast as her feet were moving and narrowly avoided a nasty spill as she untangled herself. "Rachel wait!" she caught her by the elbow of her sweater, just quick enough to not require force to spin the smaller girl back around, and promptly blanked.

The truth was she had been avoiding Rachel for the last week or so, ducking in and out of class at the last moment, spending more time in libraries she had never frequented before and less in the coffee shops and theatre houses they'd used as meeting places. It wasn't what she had wanted, not at all, but when she tried going back to the way things were before she found it too difficult -almost too painful- all of the sudden. She hadn't been able to deal with the fallout and she had taken to begging off as busy with her studies, that her grade were slipping (which wasn't exactly a lie), that she needed a little while to get her feet back under her from the trip home.

Rachel had been understanding, at first, but Quinn's '_tomorrow_'s had turned into '_maybe tomorrow'_s and then '_I'll let you know_'s too quickly. Rachel wasn't accustomed to being ignored and Quinn knew she should have been better prepared for a confrontation, but then again it wasn't something _she _was entirely used to.

Dark eyebrows were furrowed over narrow coffee colored eyes, darkened by the heat of her stare and glossed pink lips were pressed to express along with the lines of her face the true depth of her displeasure but the longer she watched the normally stoic Quinn falter the softer it all became. "What's going on, Quinn?"

For someone who had spent the majority of her life hiding the very inkling of emotion, it was a strange thing to want to laugh and cry at the same time and Quinn had to physically bite down on the tip of her tongue to stop herself from spilling out every dirty little secret she had locked up tight. "I'm sorry," she said instead, twisting her fingers in the fabric of Rachel's sweater, pulling herself just millimeters closer and trying desperately to reign herself in. _What is she doing to me?_ Quinn thought, breathing in heavily.

"I'm sorry," she repeated when Rachel continued to look at her with that sort of wide-eyed concern and nothing else sprung to mind. "I've just- I have. There are things," she blinked hard, taking a step back and dropping her hand, wanting to fold in on herself, "I'm sorry, Rachel."

Now would be the time Brittany would flex her legs and tense her arms, she would offer a sad smile and an open hand, but no words- there were so few words spoken when one of them was upset. She would step back, out of Quinn's space, and both of them would know that when Quinn had gathered herself up and shuffled her pieces back into the spots where they fit best they would come back together and everything would go back to the way it was before. That was how they settled disputes after they'd started dating, and the size of the fight would determine how long she stayed away, and that worked her them. It probably never solved anything, never brought them closure and Quinn thinks very suddenly that all those tiny steps back that Brittany had taken might add up to the distance between them now.

Rachel closed the space between them, stepping right up to within inches of her and pressed her hands around the fist Quinn had balled at her side unintentionally.

"Talk to me," she said softly, imploringly.

"Rachel-"

"Not right now, not right _here_," she looked down to where she was gently trying to prying Quinn's fingers apart to where she could slip her own between them. "But, Quinn, you _can _talk to me."

Pale eyelids fluttered over golden-green eyes so rapidly her vision blurred and her chest ached. Rachel was too good and Quinn wished in that moment that she had let her walk away because she wasn't sure there'd be another opportunity where it was as easy.

!

"_Dude, you are not punking out. It's tonight, for fuck's sake!_"

In the weeks following Thanksgiving break Santana found her mood steadily getting worse with the shortening of the days and she was more than willing to place the blame solely at the feet of one Quinn Fabray. It wasn't something she could explain really, nor was it something that she put a whole lot of effort into thinking about but she knew that every interaction with her bottle blonde roommate left a burning sort of tension in her shoulders and a bad taste in her mouth.

Fortunately there was almost no overlap between their schedules and Santana had actually gone days without every actually seeing the other girl. On the other hand, more of Quinn's time seemed to be dedicated to Brittany than before which meant less time for herself with the dancer. But like, Quinn was her girlfriend and it made sense that she would take precedence and if her roommate was showing more attention to her friend than that meant that the harlot was spending less on girlfriend number two. Which was good for Brittany, but for some reason chaffed Santana like nothing else.

But she found other things to pass her time, and before she was fully prepared for it the weekend of Puck's show was upon her and Santana might be panicking just a tiny bit.

"You think I don't know that, genius?" she hissed, hunching protectively over the books spread out before her. She cut a glare around the area but anyone else close by was too absorbed in their own things to pay her any mind. Under normal circumstances it wouldn't matter if the show was a week from right then or an hour, Santana would wind up there somehow, looking fierce and ready to go but circumstances weren't normal. Circumstances hadn't been normal since she first laid eyes on Brittany Pierce.

"_You said you were coming, S." _He was pouting, she could hear it in his voice but rather than endearing her like she was sure he was hoping to do, it was only frustrating her more. Santana Lopez wasn't taken in by such stupid ploys and Puck sure as hell knew that. There was something else, some other reason he was willing to risk her wrath for and he never did have the patience to draw it out. "_Besides, woman, you said you would bring your hot dancer friend."_

There it was, Santana rolled her eyes. "You're an ass," she reminded him, leaning back in her chair and worrying slightly over the polish on her nails. She kicked out the heel of her foot and caught the edge of the empty seat across from her, but it didn't alleviate any of the agitation she was feeling so she took to glaring more heavily at it. Unsurprisingly, that didn't seem to help either.

"_Don't hate,_" Puck was talking again, his voice just carrying over the shitty reception she was getting in the stacks on the ninth floor of Bobst Library. "_You're stressing and I've got the cure, babe. You're already on the list at the door _and_ I'll lay my tab at the fucking bar. Free drinks, awesome music, me ripping out my mad skills on the stage. Not even you can find something missing in that plan. So quit playing coy, confirm for two and start in on whatever it is girls do to prepare for a night of non-stop awesome."_

The scowl tightened her features and she felt an almost embarrassed heat spread across her forehead and down her cheeks. Truth was, she wasn't playing coy or just trying to be a bitch to him, she was avoiding confirming because she hadn't actually gotten around to _asking_ Brittany yet. She'd been meaning to, it had been at the top of her 'to-do' list since the idea had come up over break but the act of putting it out there was giving her some difficulty. There were _reasons_, of course. Brittany was insanely busy, between rehearsal and classes and her shitty girlfriend and an upcoming winter exhibition, the dancer never seemed to have a moment to breath let alone an evening to blow off responsibility the way Santana wanted to.

They had managed to hangout only twice, once for coffee on a Sunday morning and once for dinner with Mike and Tina, but it was hard enough to get her on the phone lately. Strangely enough it wasn't as much as a deterrent as it was an annoyance, and when she _did_ have Brittany's undivided attention she didn't want to waste it sounding like a damn fool when she couldn't push the invitation past her lips.

When it came down to it, she didn't even want to think about why just the thought of inviting her to the show made her tongue fumble and her hands start to sweat. So instead they talked about shit that mattered at the time, like the music for Brittany and Mike's dance or family or the NY Rangers or lionfish and Santana would end up laughing until she was close to tears and after they'd hung up she would kick herself because that had probably been the perfect time to ask.

But she sure as hell wasn't going to tell Puck that.

"Yeah," she sighed in a way that meant she really was saying '_no_' and shook her head, "I'm not thinking that's such a fabulous idea."

"_Santana_," Puck's voice was stilted in a warning, banking on their friendship to protect him.

"_Puck_," she snipped, "I'm allowed to change my mind about shit like this. Maybe I don't want you to meet her." She was stalling, but she know the boy wasn't likely to call her out on it, not right then anyway. He was never easily deterred once he'd gotten the scent of something he truly wanted and fuck all if he didn't have a hard on for meeting Brittany.

"_Dammit, woman,_" he groaned, "_it was your fucking idea! How many times do I have to swear on my left nut that I won't say or do anything offensive? Which is bullshit, by the way. She's _your_ fucking friend and if she can tolerate you then there no way I could possibly offend her." _Santana started to grumble under her breath but Puck pressed on automatically, "_And don't even try and act like she doesn't want to meet _me._ Because I'm awesome and that shit won't fly so why don't you cut the bull and tell me what's really going on."_

The way she was grinding her teeth was starting to give her a headache and Santana huffed, "She's dating Quinn." Whatever, she thought, folding somewhat into herself, it was going to come out eventually.

"_Your hot roommate?"_ Puck asked to clarify, like there was any other Quinn that they might possibly know, but he didn't wait for her to confirm before clinking his tongue in appreciation. "_That's hot_."

"I'm hanging up now."

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold your fucking ponies for a hot second. What does the fact that your girl is dating the Ice Queen have to do with her coming to my show? Did she say that she couldn't because it was like a-_" he trailed off and taking comfort in the fact that there was no way he could see her do it, she cringed. It took a while for things to click with him sometimes, but he'd known her for just as long as she'd known him and she should have known he'd figured her out before long. "_Dude, S, just invite her to the fucking show_." Like it was just that simple. Like all Santana to do was say '_Hey, girl, want to spend the evening with me in a tiny ass bar and too many people and alcohol and music and dancing.' _

Puck didn't get it, he couldn't have. He had never had qualms about hanging out with people who were in relationships, well he never had qualms about much of anything, in truth and before her friendship with Brittany, Santana was much the same. But now she was starting to worry about how asking her to hang out on a Friday night was potentially the equivalent to asking her to blow of possible plans with the girl she'd been seeing for more than a year, her high school sweetheart. Her best friend.

"_Seriously, S, what's the worst that could happen?"_

Santana blinked and her mind kick started into every possible scenario that had been unintentionally causing her hands to shake and her tongue to remain uncooperative. Brittany could have other plans. She could have other plans with _Quinn _and Santana would have an actual confirmation that her roommate had somehow managed to weasel her way back into Brittany's good graces. She could confirm that while they were friends, there was a limit to that friendship and that while there was honestly no one else Santana could think of wanting to spend Friday night with that Brittany wasn't on the same page, that there were other things she would rather be doing, other places she would rather be- other people she would rather be with. Santana could ask and feel, possibly for the first time, that bitter sting of rejection because it wasn't until right now that she realized how badly she wanted to ask and know that the answer would be _yes_.

But the question had been posed and Santana knew exactly what the worst thing that could happen would be.

_What's the worst that could happen? _Well, Santana frowned, "She could say 'no'."

It was gross how depressing the thought actually was, like it mattered or that Santana's good time was dependent on whether or not Brittany wanted to hang out with her. And then Puck started to laugh and a homicidal rage began to creep up on her and whitewash all those soft things she'd been feeling.

"_Suck it up, woman."_ He chuckled again and slowly he brushed off every fear and insecurity she'd felt in the last two weeks off with that simple disarming confidence he'd always had, "_and just don't let her say no."_

!

"_You've reached Michael's Vampire Crematorium. You stake 'em, we bake 'em."_

"-the fuck?" Confused, Santana pulled her phone from her ear and glanced at the screen. It was definitely Brittany's number she had dialed, but her was not the voice on the other end of the line. "Mike?" she asked hesitantly, it sounded like him- if he was using a god awful fake Romanian accent- plus she couldn't really think of any other guy that would answer Brittany's phone.

"_Yo, Spitfire!" _his voice was back to its normal tones and Santana smiled at the natural joy in it. "_How ya been, girl? Haven't talked to you in a bit."_

"Yeah, sorry. I'm good, just been busy. Classes, you know?" she nodded to herself, pushing out a breath and biting at her bottom lip. "Is Brittany there?"

"_That girl? Yeah, she's around here somewhere,_" he hummed and there was shifting in the background, "_There was a bit of a mishap in class, or I guess a misstep, so she stayed behind for a second."_

"A misstep?" Santana's frown creased heavily at that. "Is she okay?"

Mike paused and the small girl felt her curiosity and worry spike simultaneously. "_Well, she's just-"_ but he cut himself off, tone shifting quickly from hesitant to confident, "_Pssh, bright eye's is aces, don't you worry about that."_

"Mike?" she forced, getting the distinct feeling that she was missing something vital, but before she could make him explain himself she could hear the familiar lilt of Brittany's voice beyond his on the other end and she felt her whole body go rigid as her thoughts fled. She couldn't hear exactly what was being said, not when there was a scratching sound that she took to mean that he'd pressed the flat of the phone against his chest drowning out the noise. But she could make out rumblings, both high voiced and low and with a sigh and a shift in her hips Santana held her phone between her cheek and her shoulder, picking at her nails and forcing her breath to come out at nice, even intervals.

"_Hello? Santana?"_ She caught her phone as it sailed at her waistline and fractions of a second before it shattered on the ground. Santana hadn't been aware someone could stumble while standing still, but then she'd never imagined she'd get that wicked fluttering feeling deep in the pit of her stomach at the sound of Brittany's voice. "_You there, honey?_"

"Yes!" she shouted unnecessarily and mentally slapped herself. "Hey. Hey, hi," she repeated herself, bringing down her tone and trying to sound like a _normal _human being for one fucking second. Brittany giggled on the other end and the corners of her lips turned up just to hear it. "Hi."

"_Hi._"

"Mike said you had a bit of a rough time in class. You okay?"

Brittany blew out a breath and a crisp, clear picture formed in Santana's mind of fluttering blonde bangs and blue eyes crossed in exasperation. "_Yeah_," the other girl sighed and Santana heard the press of her lips around it. "Mike," her voice cut sharply and Santana knew she was attempting to give a pointed look at her partner that probably looked more like a pout than anything else, "_needs to mind his own business. I was just having an off day I guess."_

Santana frowned. She had never seen Brittany dance at school and she knew that classical ballet had to be worlds away from the way she had moved at the club that first night, but the way she'd moved, the passion she'd _felt_ dancing with her, but she couldn't imagine the blonde ever missing a step. It concerned her, it concerned her a lot more than she was prepared to account for. "But you're okay, right?"

"_Of course_!" it was said in her normal, bubbly manner but now that Santana was listening for it she could hear the strain there, just under the lighthearted tone, and it touched on something fundamental inside her to hear it. But it did give her an opening and if Brittany didn't want to talk about whatever was on her mind and stealing her grace she would do what she could do be there for her, no matter if or when she wanted to break her silence.

"Does that mean you want to take a break from the dance scene for a bit then?"

"_Depends_," Brittany hummed, voice drifting as Mike said something far in the background and could only hear a muffled '_hey!' _and a _thump_ before the dancer gave her full attention back, "_what did you have in mind?"_

"W-well," the darker girl stuttered out, rubbing her hand hard against the back of her neck as the space between her lungs thumped against the inside of her , "My buddy's band is playing tonight and I was wondering, I mean, if you're up for it…"

"_Yes_!" Brittany cut her off, too excited to let her try and fumble her way through and for that the smaller girl was infinitely grateful. She was laughing suddenly, and gently chastising Santana. "_Did you really even have to ask?"_

She flushed hotly, but it was a different feel than any she had ever had before. This was satisfaction and relief and about a hundred other emotions Santana had no name to give tingling in her fingertips and making her head swim. How could she have ever thought Brittany would say no to a club?

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

I want to give a big 'ol **THANK YOU** to every one who has reviewed/alerted/messaged. You cool cats are keeping me honest. I promise you won't have to wait another two months (_egads, bazzer, wtf were you even doing! ?)_ for the next update. Cross my heart.


	17. In Which I'm Right Up Next to You

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi This Is For Real by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

AN: Technically, _technically_, it's been less than two months. So, I didn't lie. I just got myself into a situation that took me a little longer to get out of than I thought it would and yeah. Boring details of my life.

Here's some lovely Brittana for you all. Enjoy, yes?

* * *

><p>The first thing that she noticed was that it <em>felt <em>loud, louder than she was used to for all the shows she's seen in this particular underground bar and a dozen others just like it in half as many boroughs of the city of New York. There were any number of things she could have noticed, but the noise was something she identified with so it was the first thing that caught her attention when she finally made it to the building, past the line that wrapped around the building and stretched down the block and under the heavily muscled arm of the bouncer guarding the front entrance.

She and Brittany had decided to meet at the club, the blonde thinking it would be a good idea because she wasn't sure when she would get out of her last class and she didn't want to make Santana late to her friend's show. Santana had tried to shrug it off, _guaranteeing _the dancer that missing a couple of songs from Puck's set wasn't going to shatter her world and she would much rather wait for her, but Brittany had been adamant and Santana had caved with a pout, mumbling an address and a time and having to content herself with Brittany's breathy "_I'm super excited about tonight_."

At the time her stomach had tightened in a particularly good way, but now it was a decidedly less than pleasant feeling rolling around between her ribs and her nerves were starting to fray. She wanted to check her phone but she had left it in the pocket of her coat that she'd stashed in the back with Puck's stuff, she wanted to know the time or if Brittany had texted her that she was on her way. A tiny, little part of her even considered calling Brittany and offering up an alternative plan, one where they wouldn't be stuck in some jam-packed underground club that was over capacity and in close quarters with her best friend. Dancing in that heat, with the social lubricate of alcohol flowing freely. An underground club in the middle of a drunk crowd, knowing the way Brittany moved. Santana paused, blinking rapidly as she very carefully considered that thought as it hadn't really occurred to her before.

The music dulled under the thrum of blood in her ears and for a brief respite it was so quiet she could hear the beat of her heart thump too quickly. There was still time to call it off, Puck would more than likely be pissed but she wasn't overly concerned about that. It was Brittany she thought about. About how much she might be looking forward to tonight, to a free night with her friend. A friend that was acting like such a _freak_. Her fingers curled, pressing red lacquered nails into her palms and she breathed. What the hell was wrong with her?

Santana fluttered her hands down the sides of her dress, tugging and uselessly readjusting the clinging material to fit her body more perfectly but even she couldn't convince herself that it was anymore than a weak attempt at giving herself something to do. The space between her shoulder blades was starting to itch and a curious numbness was creeping up from the tips of her fingers up to her wrists and before she had thought about the motion her arms were crossed under her breasts and the thin point of her heel was tapping restlessly against the ceramic of the floor.

"If you were wound any tighter, S, I think I'd be able to use you to tell time." His voice trickled over the blaring music, uncomfortably close and a fraction of a second later Puck's hands landed heavy on her shoulders. They were damp from his own set of pre-show nerves and hot from the friction of him constantly rubbing them against the material of his jeans and Santana shuddered under the feel of them. He gave her one good squeeze before stepping back and shoving his hands into his back pockets and unconsciously (or consciously, knowing him) thrusting his hips forward.

Santana rolled her eyes and shuffled sideways putting just a little bit more distance between them and asked, "Nervous?"

Puck shook his head vigorously, the gel in his hair making it unnaturally still in the movement and it stuck Santana like a lie more than his words or the forced lax in his stance. "You are though," he observed, tilting his chin in her direction and smiling with all of his teeth gleaming in that extremely annoying he used whenever he thought he was a step ahead of the game. She hated it was he smiled like that.

"Am not," Santana ground out between clenched teeth and narrowed her eyes, pulling her arms tighter about her torso.

"You're still trippin' over me meeting this chick," he laughed, shifting his shoulder to press the tip of his pointer finger against the stress crease above the bridge of her nose. She slapped his hand away, sharp and stinging, but he just laughed harder. "Man, what is it about this girl that has you acting like such a damn pussy?"

There was no answer for that particular question, so she turned quickly and sunk the knuckles of her fist into the soft front side of his shoulder. He grunted around a wince but just ended up smiling harder, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his laughter snuck through quietly. It upset her that her normal method of shutting him up was proving ineffectual so she settled a heavier glare at him and flung her wrist in the direction of further into the club, "Don't you have a show to get ready for?"

He shrugged but tucked his hands back into his pockets, keeping them to himself. "All done, just waiting for our turn. She's blonde, right?" he craned his neck and pushed up onto the toes of his scuffed up Adidas.

"Huh-?" she twisted body towards the front and caught sight of said blonde ducking into the club, but she was too short with a squarer face and broader shoulders. "That's not her." When she looked back, Puck was watching her rather than the door and his smile had shifted into something else entirely. Something softer, something more genuine. "What?" she frowned.

"Nothing," he shook his head and felt his lips twitch as he tried to smooth his face back into a smirk. "Maybe I should be back there with the guys," he jutted his thumb over his shoulder and a defensive feeling shot up her spine at the nonchalance of his tone.

She paused from her vigil on the door long enough to throw the mo-hawked boy suspicious look, "I thought you wanted to meet her."

"I do," he laughed and rolled his shoulders self-deprecatingly, "but first impression and all, I mean call me an egomaniac or whatever, but I kind of want the first thing she sees for herself is that I'm a badass on stage. So like, just bring your hot self around after the set so I can get down with you and blondie, yeah?" Stepping backwards into the club he offered her a two fingered salute from his temple.

"Yeah, sure," she blinked, raising a hand to return his wave but as soon as she saw him be swallowed in by the crowd her attention switched back and her nerves made themselves known once more. The nail of her thumb slipped between the press of her teeth and she wished again that she had her phone on her but the antsy jump of her heels stilled when another girl ducked into the club and reached up to brush snow out of blonde hair.

Thin shoulders appeared from under a think black peacoat as she handed it to the coat check and flashed the man behind the counter a look that had him swallowing his own tongue and grinning back flirtatiously. Blue eyes had turned away from him before he could open his mouth, however, and across the way they found Santana a split second before a bright smile lit up her face and her body. A warmth struck up in the darker girl's stomach, quelling the butterflies there and settling the pull of strain at shoulders.

Brittany approached her with a jump and a skip and just as Santana was braced there were lithe arms around her neck, a thin waist under her embrace and laughter ripped from her throat. "Hey, B," she grinned, chin nestled against the curve between the pale girl's neck and shoulder.

When her feet were back on the ground the dancer locked her wrists at the back of Santana's neck and leant her upper body back. She caught Santana's eye as the darker girl slipped her hands across the small of her back and tucked her thumbs into the front belt loops of her skinny jeans. Hips pressed to hips, Brittany looked down between them and turned up a devilish smile and cobalt eyes, "You look totally hot in red."

Emboldened by the moderate anonymity offered to them by the club's lighting and the appreciative look in darkening blue eyes, Santana shimmied her hips and grinned, "You're pretty smokin' yourself."

Brittany wrinkled her nose with a grin and for a moment they just stood there and smiled at one another until an eager club patron jostled Santana upon his entrance, breaking her concentration and forcing her back a step. She blinked, flushing at the thought of the goofy smile she could feel turning the corner of her mouth and took a step back, the music filtering into her conscious.

"You ready to head in?" she asked, fluttering a hand to hide the way it seemed to shake and resisting the urge to shake it entirely of the tingles that were beginning to spread up her arm.

If Santana hadn't been so distracted by her own sense of embarrassment she might have noticed the slight hitch in the other girl's shoulders as she rocked back on her heels forced a light laugh. "Aren't we meeting your friend?" she hummed and tucked her own hands into the back pockets of too tight jeans.

"We will," Santana pulled her eyes from the lights flashing on the crowd writhing on the dance floor to find Brittany grinning at her shyly up at her from underneath pale eyelashes. She stilled, almost entirely, and was more glad in that moment for Puck's decision to duck out and give her this moment. "We will," she repeated, pulling the corner of her mouth into a half smile and held out her hand to the taller girl, "Later though."

"Later," Brittany' repeated, her grin shifting. Jumping forward excitedly, she paused only long enough to push her fingers between the darker girl's and used their tangled hands to pull her down the steps and into the mass, "I like later."

!

The air felt compressed, hot on her skin as it pulsed, vibrated, and practically _seared _her lungs. All around her people were moving, hands in the air and heads bobbing in time with the steady ripping of the bassist's guitar, a select few moved in more intricate patterns of shifting feet and twisting hips, but all Santana could concentrate on was Brittany. There was something different about how she moved tonight, something distinct to the rock music that blared through the front speakers. Something different and yet just as familiar and Santana was just as drawn as the first time. It was harder, heavy and more disjointed than the Cuban beat that had flowed like honey the first time she'd seen her dance but still Brittany commanded it, bent it to her will- she made it just as mesmerizing, intoxicating.

Feeling compelled she leant across the small divide between them and asked, "How do you do that?" Brittany blinked open her eyes and tilted her head, she smiled at the darker girl, a lazy almost half stoned looking smile that let Santana know just how into the music she was, but there was a question in her eyes. "How can you _dance _to this?" she shouted again, over the pounding drums and thick electric lead guitar. The corners of her eyes crinkled and Santana felt herself smile in response, shifting closer, "Seriously, there's like zero actual rhythm!"

But Brittany just grinned, all teeth and bright eyes, as she reached out and spun the darker girl by the hips, twisting her fingers into the dark red material there and using it to guide her in quick, punctuated movements. Santana's chest jumped and for a second- just a second- her breath burned her lungs and a current ran from the back of her neck to the tip of her toes.

"Feel that?" Brittany husked against the shell of her ear, the corner of her smile touching the sensitive skin there. What Santana _felt _was the curve of a breast at her back from the way the taller girl was angled against her, she felt steady hands curled at her waist and breath that smelled like mint against her neck. A shiver ripped her body along her spine and she chanced a look around but no one else was watching her, no one else cared, and she realized in that moment that no one else fucking _mattered_.

Surprised by her own mini revelation and with her mouth too dry to respond she just nodded, the tilt of her chin slipping down a fraction as her knees gave and she fought to remain upright, wondering if it were even possible without the support the dancer was providing her. Brittany chuckled, the vibration of it shifting the line of her shoulders and she felt that, pressed the way they were, and there was something comfortable about being able to know what Brittany was feeling by touch alone.

Under the dancer's guidance they continued to move together, slipping seamlessly between the songs of the band on stage until Santana world was reduced to little more than the other girl and the music playing. Experience taught her that eventually all things must end, especially when she was enjoying herself, so when Brittany gave her one gentle squeeze and then stepped back as the set ended the only surprise she felt was at the sense of loss that came with it.

"Drink?" she mouthed, turning to find the blonde grinning at her again in that almost shy manner. Brittany nodded quickly and Santana rolled her eyes affectionately, grabbing the taller girl by the forearm and tugging her in the direction of the bar at the corner of the room. "Puck's band should be up next."

"Cool," she bobbed her head as Santana ordered for them. "How did you and, uh, Puck meet?"

She wrinkled her nose and gestured around, "At a club, kind of like this one."

"Oh?" Brittany curled a fist under her chin and twisted her lips.

"It was stupid. We were too young to be there, too drunk to actually care," Santana lifted a shoulder and sat at a barstool, thinking about that night she'd first met the boy with the absurd haircut. "We met, he gave me some ridiculous line, we danced and drank some more, and then-" she cut herself off abruptly.

"You had sex with him," the other girl finished for her and Santana felt the tips of her ears burning with embarrassment. There was no judgment in Brittany's voice though and when the darker girl looked up it was to a sweet smile undercut by some unnamable shadow in cobalt eyes.

Santana blinked, the rush of heat to her cheeks staining them darkly. It wasn't that she was embarrassed by the fact that she used to sleep with Puck (she'd done worse with worse) but something about Brittany knowing that part of her- it bothered her in a way she hadn't thought possible. "It was a long time ago," she defended unnecessarily, "And we're just friends now.

"Okay," the dancer nodded simply, the corners of her eyes crinkling.

The bartended set two bottles between them with a wink, but Santana was too busy frowning at the blonde at her left to care. "I'm serious," she jutted her bottom lip, "There's nothing between me and Puck anymore."

"I didn't say there was," Brittany laughed quietly, taking a sip from the drink in her hand.

She frowned, flitting her eyes across the obvious amusement on her friend's face, "You're giving me a look."

"I am?"

"You are."

Brittany immediately schooled the markers of her face into a mock mask of seriousness, "Is this better?"

It was almost too precious and Santana had to chuckle as she shook her head, "Not really, no." Brittany's stern look slipped into a natural smile and that relieved the dark-skinned girl until it was accompanied by a wink and she sputtered over the lip of the beer. "What?" she laughed, brushing her thumb over the corner of her lip to brush off the spillover.

She watched Brittany's eyes flutter, her sight landing swiftly and fleetingly over her features, feeling it high on her cheekbones, across the bridge of her nose and lingering a second too long on her lips. "You danced with him?" she asked tentatively, thumbing the corner of the label with her nail.

Santana narrowed her eyes and hummed to the positive, willing to give her a moment to finish whatever thought the dancer had started to form.

A man on stage made an announcement, prompting a cheer from the crowd but Santana focusing on Brittany who was focused on the bottle in her hands. After a long beat the label gave way, peeling easily from the condensation that had started to gather and Brittany looked up, "Was he good?"

"Puck?" she asked and receiving a nod in return. "At dancing?" Brittany's smile twisted into something that looked self-deprecating and Santana bit the corner of her mouth to try and control a smile that felt uncontrollable. "Eh," she shrugged and took a sip from her drink, kicking herself sideways a little to nudge her knee against the blonde's, "I've had better partners."

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

!

There was a rush he got when he was on stage. It was different from the rush he felt playing sports in high school, different from any feeling he'd ever gotten from drugs or alcohol, different even from the one he got when he'd bedded a particularly choice girl. It was more like hitting triple digits on the speedometer with the top down and the radio cranked up past the point where it even sounded like music anymore. It was watching fireworks explode out over the Harbor from the bed of his truck with a iced down beer in one hand and the other over the shoulder of a pretty girl.

It was adrenaline and serenity, a beating heart and sweating palms, love and fear and strength and frailty all rolled into a single moment right before he stepped up to the mic that defined him. He sighed, looking around at his band mates as the moment passes.

"This song-" Puck cradled one hand down the body of the mic stand and used the other to shield his eyes against the glare of the lights so he could look out into the crowd, "-goes out to one very special chick." He found Santana facing the stage with her elbows resting on the bar, standing out with her red dress and the hot blonde whose ear she was currently whispering into, "that I hope to be using this night to get right up next to."

Santana looked up with a glare that Puck would swear up and down for the rest of his life that he could fell all the way on the other side of the club. She flipped him off and when the girl at her side said something she gestured towards him. He couldn't get a good look at blondie except to know that when she stood with her arm resting on the bar behind Santana's back that his friend seemed to lean into her and she was more than a few inches taller than her.

"Ladies," he rumbled into the microphone, adjusting the guitar strap over his shoulder. There was a girl in the crowd, another blonde who was practically spilling out of her shirt, that he threw a wink to and grinned devilishly when she started screaming wildly. "We are _Massive_."

Sam laughed, the same way he did every time Puck introduced them, as he plucked the cords of his Fender in rapid succession, counting down until his boy Derek on drums kicked in.

!

"_Coming to you honey on the east side runnin' and I ain't got time to waste  
>Jump into the car in the back seat lovin' but you're keeping me on the chase."<em>

!

"They're really good." Brittany felt the way Santana shivered under her arm as she leant in closer to be heard over the band on stage. It was curious, the way Santana would respond to her sometimes, like her body wanted to react one way but her mind wanted to go another and once the two were done fighting, she would just sort of… fall.

She tilted her head to the side and took in the darker girl's profile. She really was gorgeous, Brittany thought, with her dark tones and full lips and deep flashing eyes. She watched as long, dark lashes fluttered over high cheekbones and waited for Santana to open her eyes, wanting to know what shade they were at that exact moment. She shut out everything else, shut out the sound of the music, the feel of the laminate of the bar under her arm, she stilled the tap of her foot, ignored the thunder of her own heartbeat and waited. Her world shut down, it narrowed and collapsed and folded into itself until Santana blinked. Brittany smiled, her eyes were dark but something in them swirled like curling smoke or coffee just as the creamer was being poured in.

A piece of her flexed on the inside, it snapped something urgent, as everything and nothing around her registered.

"Santana," she said it just to be able to say it, testing it and tasting it. She licked her lips because they tingled and barely recognizing the tenor of her own voice, watching as Santana's attention twitched down and then back up to catch her eyes.

"Brittany?" the smaller girl questioned, but the corners of her mouth were pulling up in almost flattered embarrassment.

Her jaw worked but whatever she was going to say fled her. "Ready to go back out there?" she winced, mentally slapping the back of her own head. It was a default setting, dancing and smiling and offering her hand. It was natural and normal and it wasn't supposed to make her feel like that.

"Sure," Santana slipped her hand into the blonde's but didn't seem to notice any difference between them, so Brittany thought it very well could be her own imagination. That happened sometimes, the running away with thoughts until they were so convoluted and distorted that she was lost in them. But Santana was smiling, that one that pulled at her eyes as well as her lips and gave the faint impression of dimples, and she was saying something that Brittany would have miss entirely if she hadn't been staring so intently. "But this time, I'm leading."

!

"_Is it true what they say, you won't give it away?  
>And I don't know what to do to get next to you, next to you."<em>

!

It was sort of, almost painfully obvious that Santana had never lead before. She hesitated more than before, trying to figure out how she was suppose to control another person's body as well as her own to a beat that few people actually danced to. She was shy too, Brittany noticed, when it come to initiating a touch or a hold, but her natural badassery and determination kicked in after a song or two- once she realized that Brittany wasn't leaving her in the lurch, so too speak, or that her partner wasn't about to let her look like a fool.

She got bolder as she got more comfortable and with the increase in boldness came a corresponding decrease in the space until someone would be hard pressed to fit a piece of paper between them. And try some people did, with more than just paper. It was so much like the first time they'd danced together, with guys approaching from all angles, but this was not the first time they were together and Santana no longer felt the need to limit herself to her best behavior in order to impress the blonde.

It was the fourth or fifth intrusion, near the end of Puck's set list, that even Brittany felt her perpetual good nature beginning to wane and an odd sort of irritation she didn't know she was capable of slowly take its place. He was the most persistent by far, insisting to continue with them even after they'd turned away, grabbing at the darker girl's elbow and asking for _just one dance_. Brittany cringed at the way Santana tensed at her back and she felt her spin, shoulders tight and something acidic on the tip of her tongue, and the dancer knew that if she was annoyed then the other girl was probably much further down the spectrum. She also knew in the core of her being that if she didn't defuse the situation, defuse _Santana_, it was going to get out of hand very quickly.

Between Aubrey and Quinn and Kate she was more used to passive aggressive behavior than outright anger, but that didn't mean they were never volatile. And whenever things got past the point of subtle hostility she found the easiest way to restrain them was to do so literally. Generally though, it was only with people she had know for the majority of her life but she was too pressed for time to properly weigh her options. So she bit her lip, offered up a silent prayer that this wouldn't backfire and stepped up fully against the darker girl's back.

Taking advantage of the way Santana froze at the sudden invasion of her personal space, she snaked her arm around the girl's thin waist and with the lack of a place to still her hand she contented herself to spread it wide against her hip and dug the pad of her thumb gently into the space just below the curve of her bottom rib. With her other hand she brushed back the dark hair that had fallen loose across Santana's slender neck and was rewarded with a full body shudder as she rested her chin right there, at the curve where her neck met her shoulder and murmured "_just relax_" into her ear. For the second time that night she watched dark eyelashes flutter shut against tan cheeks and held her breath. There was a fear she could feel there hammering against her chest, a chance that she had crossed a line and pushed too far. Few people were quite so receptive to her particular brand of interaction so soon and she knew that she could set people on edge with how touchy-feely she was, she also knew that Santana had reservations about it- she'd felt it more than once since they met- but there was something there. Something drawing her in, making it hard _not_ to touch the girl.

But much to her surprise (and the fluttering feeling of joy in her stomach) Santana didn't pull away or tense the way she had feared. Instead, she did exactly as Brittany suggested and relaxed herself, folding her arms over the one slung across her hips and set the whole of her weight against the taller girl, trusting her to keep them both upright. Almost like a dance.

"Good girl," Brittany teased and entirely out of habit, tilted just slightly and pressed her lips to the line of the smaller girl's jaw in a chaste, friendly kiss.

Santana breathed in sharply though her nose and jutted her elbow gently into Brittany's side. "Shut up," she protested weakly, sounding a little out of breath, making the blonde laugh and tighten her hold for a second in a odd sort of hug.

The man in front of them coughed into his hand, well aware of the fact that he'd been forgotten by both women, and then realized his mistake when both sets of eyes focused on him: one cool and disinterested and the other hot and annoyed. "Sorry, I didn't realize-" he stuttered through, scuffing the heel of his shoe and running a hand across the back of his neck, "I didn't know. Sorry."

He melted into the crowd and Santana watched him go with a curious frown. "What-?" she started but stopped when she felt Brittany's grip loosen as she prepared to step back, apparently done with her display. She tightened her arms over the one still holding her, making the taller girl pause in a question that Santana had no answer for. She just wasn't ready to be let go of yet.

"Whenever you're ready," Brittany hummed, dipping her chin back to its previous spot on her shoulder and standing still on the crowded dance floor. Her world was shifting again, and she could feel under her hold that Santana's was as well, but she wasn't going to think about it, about other people, she wasn't going to worry about what it might mean. She was just going to stand still, in the quiet of her mind, and be there for Santana. She let the moment wash over her, completely still.

!

"_Whoo!_" Puck threw his hands up over his head, sloshing the beer in his hand over the rim and cursed when it ran down the line of his arm and onto the floor next to him. To his right Sam was doubled over in breathless laughter while Jerry the bassist and Derek jumped into a chest bump.

"That was _awe_some," Sam raved, jamming his fingers into his shaggy blonde hair and shaking his head.

"In the bag," Puck boasted cockily, slapping hands with Jerry and letting himself be pulled in to jam shoulders with Derek. "We have it in the fucking bag."

"First round's on me, man," the drummer, slung his arm over Sam's shoulders wrestling him down to where he could scrape his knuckles over the younger man's head. "You in, Puck?"

He was all set to agree when the imagine that had been nagging him for the last couple of minutes broke through the adrenaline rush and his remembered that there was one very important thing he had to do first. "I'll meet you guys at the bar, okay?"

He clasped hands with each of them in turn, sharing more buoyant shouts and rough jostling before he ducked out from the backstage and into the hallway that branched off into the main body of the club. Santana was just as easy to spot as she had been earlier, but he stood in the walkway for a minute anyway, watching her and blonde that couldn't be anyone other than Brittany. She as standing a little further away from the girl than she had been the entire time he was on stage, but there was a calm to her that he'd never associated with his friend before. She was smiling, bright eyed and relaxed, and when she reached out to touch the other girl, to connect physically as she laughed at whatever was being said, the blonde met her halfway and handled her just as gently as she had before.

There were a lot of things that Puck didn't know, school things and social things, but as a musician he always thought he was especially attuned to know when two things fit. When different, intricate harmonies meshed and mixed and made something more beautiful together than they were apart. _That _was something he knew.

"Yo, woman," he shouted, raising a hand over his head in a wave and stepping out of the shadows, "Glad to see you stuck around."

Santana hesitated before she took half a step around from the blonde so she was standing between the two of them. Puck didn't seem to be the only one who noticed if Brittany's amused smile was any indication. "I don't know why I did," the tiny girl huffed, tucking one arm under the other and buffing the nails of her free hand on the front of her dress. "You guys totally sucked."

"We rocked," he blew off her insult like he'd heard it a million times before, which he had. The blonde grinned at their interaction and Puck felt himself smirk as he stepped around his friend. "Brittany, right?" he asked, stopping mere inches from the blonde his friend had been unconsciously ( or perhaps consciously) shielding from him and giving her a through once over, totally loving what he was seeing. She nodded, biting the corner of her mouth to stop what he thought might be a laugh. "Brittany thinks we rocked. Don't you, Brittany?"

"Totally awesome," she intoned seriously, punctuated with another quick nod.

"See? Totally awesome," he stuck his tongue out at Santana, ignoring the roll of eyes as he ducked to grab Brittany's hand and bring it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the curl of her knuckles and giving her a wink, "Pleasure to finally meet you, Brittany, the name's Noah. My friends call me Puck, but a girl as fine as you just needs to call me."

She did laugh then, giggled more than anything else, free in a way he didn't think he'd ever heard before and from the corner of his eye he caught the way Santana scowled at him, gaze narrowed at the way he still held Brittany's hand to his mouth. He grinned that same toothy smile he knew Santana hated and gave the girl's fingers a gentle squeeze before he lowered them back to her side. This, he thought, we going to be fun as hell. So long as he didn't get his ass kicked at the end of the night.

* * *

><p>Song was <em>Next to You<em> by Buckcherry.

Thoughts?

Here's mine: (and it has nothing to do with the story so feel free to skip and you know, review or what-have-you) _No _means _no_ and _stop _means _stop_. No one deserves to be put in a situation where they feel guilty or wrong to say _stop. _If someone asks you to _stop_, please be respectful of that and I hope to the stars above that if you ever say _stop_ to someone that they are respectful of you. If not, you do whatever it takes to get yourself out of that situation and you tell someone. Don't bottle that in. And if you feel like you don't have anyone to tell it to, you tell me and I make my way to wherever you are and I buy you ice cream or coffee and we talk or don't. I've got four bats in my jeep, but only two of them are regulation softball bats (_oh, the stereotype). _Batting cages, people, I'm talking batting cages. Those always make me feel better when I don't want to talk.

Stepping off my soapbox now. Have a lovely day, dear hearts.


	18. In Which Mechanics Are Discussed

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language, sexual suggestion and Puck  
>AN: this is unbeta'd so I hope you all forgive me for the mistakes I make. Much thanks and love.<p>

* * *

><p>She knew what he was doing.<p>

He was finding excuses to touch her; brush a hand across her back, slip his arm over her shoulders, or that awkward minute and a half thumb wrestling match where they'd been locked at the knuckles laughing and leaning into one another. Puck was about as subtle as a bulldozer and it irritated her that despite her warnings, despite the fact that he had _promised_ he would lay off that night, that he didn't appear to be pulling out any of the stops when it came to winning over _her _friend.

And Brittany was eating it up. She responded in kind, almost always angled towards him from her seat next to the smaller girl, laughing at his lame jokes and boosting his ego. Then to top her ire off, when Puck jerked his head in the direction of a still writhing mass on the dance floor with a stupid (or what he must have thought was charming) smile and a "_you down?_" she took his hand and grinned - a wicked gleam flashing in her blue eyes.

That had- that had fucking _hurt_.

To make matters worse they weren't even putting on a good show. To be fair, Santana never presumed to know a lot about dance, about technique or the way partners matched one another, but in her opinion the two of them looked ridiculous together. Puck was all shoulders and no hips, he was too slow in his feet, too fast with his hands and the fact that he kept trying to lead the obviously more advanced dancer was almost comical. She would have laughed, maybe, if it didn't feel like her lungs were starting to boil and melt in her chest.

"You don't share very well, do you?"

She blinked, having to practically rip her eyes from the dance floor to the blonde boy taking residence in the seat Brittany had recently vacated. Sam Evans was one of the few people that Puck hung out with that she could stand for an extended period of time, even with his too-wide smile and lame movie references. They had even hooked up once after the whole thing with Puck had run its course, but afterwards he started talking about relationships and she had gone into a claustrophobic fit and it was never brought up again. Now he was just the shaggy-haired, big-lipped guitarist in Puck's band that she sometimes played Halo with and had once seen naked. She was impressed with his gaming skills. Not so much the other part.

"I'm sorry?" she asked, but her tone was too sharp to ever be confused for apologetic.

"Sharing," he repeated, dropping his chin into a propped up palm and smiling at her in his overly earnest manner, "the act of letting someone else play with your toys. It's like day one stuff in daycare."

"I didn't go to daycare," she sneered, pulling up her lip and mentally wishing for something heavy to wipe the look from his face. He didn't respond right away, choosing instead to take a sip from his glass and all out ignore the death glare he was getting from her. After a few second of that treatment she let her gaze fall back to the floor where Brittany and Puck were still dancing face-to-face.

Sam chuckled into his drink, the sound muffled but still audible, and when Santana swung her body fully around to him it quickly turned to a wet choking sound. Apparently he wasn't nearly as immune to her dark cloud aura as he pretended to be. "Something funny, Trouty Mouth?"

He sputtered a cough and wiped the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his rolled up flannel shirt. "Retract the claws a little, Ms. Kyle, I come in peace," he wheezed out, pounding a closed fist against his chest and coughing again to clear his airway. She rolled her eyes, but it was a fight to keep the angry expression on her face when he acted like such a fucking _geek_ so she let it fall into a bored one and waited for him to start breathing normally. He held up finger to indicate he needed another second so Santana let her eyes drift back to where Puck's hands were clasped to Brittany's trim waist and her head was thrown back in laughter. Santana's stomach clenched painfully and the careful stillness of her face shifted into something unfamiliar, something pouty.

"Whoo," Sam breathed out, fanning himself with the collar of his shirt and smiling bashfully. "Hey, if you're not careful your face is going to stick that way," he chuckled, taking a long pull from his drink. She flipped him off on reflex, barely dedicating energy to the raising of her hand from its crossed position on the tabletop. "Santana," he called but she ignored him in favor of narrowing her eyes and clenching her jaw. "Santana," he repeated and again, "Santana."

"What?" she snapped, twisting her lips and slapping a hand down.

He didn't jump, all too accustomed to her random outbursts he didn't even flinch. Instead he offered her a guppy-faced look of sympathy and patted her arm, "You want to talk about it?"

She stared down at his hand on her forearm and the urge to sock him welled up under her skin, quick and hot, but he was watching her so calmly that she had to pause. Sam was such a goofball at the best of times that it was hard to take him seriously, but he was also one of the few people in her life whose temper ran even when hers tended towards red hot so she often found herself listening even when she didn't particularly want to.

She still had her pride though and continued to glare down at his hand until he sheepishly retreated it back to the base of his drink. "Nothing to talk about," she answered sullenly, matching his sip with her own before turning her attention back around. The people on the floor had shifted too much though and she could find neither Brittany nor Puck in the writhing, thriving crowd. Something like panic struck her heart and she was half out of her chair when Sam's firm grip on her elbow registered.

Her chest rumbled but his smile had shifted into something smaller, something quieter with his lips pressed and the corners just barely turned up. "It's kind of funny, you know," he pulled back his hand and she followed reluctantly, falling back into her seat and waited for him to continue. "Puck read us the riot act about your friend earlier, made his opinion abundantly clear. No touching, no looking sideways at, no _thinking _about. _Santana's blonde hottie is off limits,_ he told us, _to everyone_." Sam took a wealthy swig and smiled like that was supposed to mean something to her but the look on her face must have been somewhere shy of understanding because after a second he rolled his eyes and tilted the top of his glass in the direction of the dance floor. The crowd shifted again and a flash of blonde hair shown dazzling under the technicolor lights, distracting her. "Don't you think it's a little weird," his voice muttered close to her ear, like the buzz of a fly or the low hum of a plucked guitar string, "that he would spend so much time working his A game with a girl he took off the table himself?"

The thought struck her oddly and she slid a narrowed look at him but Sam just waggled his eyebrows as his shaggy fringe fell across his eyes, smiling in a backed up sort of way all the while. "You look constipated," she parted, perturbed by the way the he smiled so, nevertheless glancing back over her shoulder at her two friends on the floor and the way they interacted with one another. They were both facing the stage with Puck standing at Brittany's back, one hand on her hip and the other in the air while she moved against him with almost no space to slip a piece of paper between them. Brittany moved the same as she had before with Santana herself but again, despite the sensual coil of her hips, that sense of ridiculousness prevailed.

It wasn't until Brittany reached up to twist her hand in the above her, turning around so she could say something to the boy behind her only to have him throw his head back in laughter that she realized they were talking more than dancing, joking and _trying_ to be ridiculous. They were having fun and getting along just like Santana wanted, but there was a part of her- a very small part- that wished she had stalled a little longer on the introduction because the majority of her wanted to be on that dance floor with Brittany.

!

"So who's the dude in the relationship?" His tone matched the question, an overbearing sort of curiosity that came across more rude than anything else. It was a trend Brittany had noticed right off the bat with him. It was reflected in the indelicate nature of his hold and generally tactless twisting of his hips and it marked him exactly as he was trying to come across. As an ass.

But Brittany knew a thing or two about the fronts people could put up so she offered him a laugh and let his clumsy hands lead her in a dance she probably could have done better, alone and with her eyes closed. "I think you might be confused about something."

"Nope," Puck shook his in disagreement, a small smirk tugging up the corners of his lips. "S told me you dig on the ladies. Don't get me wrong, major props-" he interjected on himself sharply, quirking his eyebrows in what might have been an inviting gesture had the topic of conversation been different, "- but I'm talking mechanics, you know?"

It wasn't the first time she'd been asked a question like that, not even the first time since she'd come to New York, and anyone else would have gotten themselves a soft brush off and a view of her back as she walked away. But this was different, he was different if only because he was important to someone who was important to her, the best friend of a girl she had started to adore from the first moment they'd spoken. That was enough to warrant a moment to grit her teeth and give him a second look.

He was still grinning at her with his mouth but it was the dare reflecting in his eyes that gave her pause. A challenge was being made and even though she wasn't entirely sure why he was trying to push her buttons it only took one look over his shoulder to where Santana was sitting, her dark eyes focused in on his hands and not her face, for her to be willing to play along with his game for now. If only for Santana.

That didn't mean she was going to make it easy for him though.

"You want to know how I have sex," she dead-panned, giving him a flat stare and letting the liveliness of the moment fade from her shoulders even as her body continued to move under the force of his too heavy hands.

Puck blinked in shock. He drew his shoulders back a fraction, not used to such a blunt attitude from a girl that looked like her and not at all used to how someone could control just how much life their face showed. "What? No!" he back-pedaled verbally, casting his gaze back over his own shoulder quickly to where he could still see Santana. He breathed a sigh of relief, infinitely glad that at that exact moment she was being distracted by Sam. Turning back to the girl he was dancing with, he noticed the smirk playing at the corner of her eyes and realized he'd been had. But he saw a certain hesitancy there as well, a suspicion that he recognized in Santana coupled with a heat he felt whenever her roommate so much as looked at him. Dangerous ground, the boy realized, but plowed on anyways.

"Trust me," he joked, regaining his footing when she let him settle his hands low on her waist to continue on in their dance, "I've seen enough eh, _movies_," he nudged her knowingly with his hip, "to understand the _how _of a little girl-on-girl action." It was difficult to get a good look at his face from the way her back was pressed to his front, but the peak she got at his smirk was more than enough to let her in on his game.

_So that's how we play it, _she thought and out loud brought him back around to his original question. "And with all your _research_ you didn't pick up on any of the _mechanics_?" She punctuated her question with movements, teasing him. "You didn't notice the fingers," she dropped her hand to his thigh and fluttered her digits against the denim there, "or the hips," her body dropped into a well timed roll that gave a particularly close twist of her hips and made his eyelids flutter, "or the fact that there is no _dude_ in the relationship."

"_Uhh_," he hissed in a breath and shuddered, barely holding onto his wits when she moved again. "What I noticed-" soldiering on he refused to lose and give in entirely "-what I noticed was that between the fingers," he flexed his hold and had to stop himself from gripping her too tightly, knowing through the fog his brain had turned into that leaving any kind of mark on her would fade only after his castration, "and the hips," he rolled his own body pulling an amused chuckle from the girl and a smile from himself, leaning in close he pressed his mouth was right up against her ear, "and even the _tongue- _that the door still gets answered when the hunky pizza delivery guy knocks."

She raised her arm over his head curling it back over his shoulder so she had a place to rest her head when she leant back fully into him, pressing her own mouth to the shell of his ear and whispered hotly, "Honey, you've never seen me in action."

He felt his mind go blank as his hands stilled and his knees nearly gave out, but then Brittany was turning over under his arm and twisting her long, graceful looking fingers- he felt himself shudder again at the sight of them- into the material of his shirt to keep him upright. There was nothing subtle about her smirk right then.

"Any more questions?"

Puck snapped his head back and howled in laughter. "Uncle!" he shouted, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Mercy," he folded his hands over the one still twisted in his collar and bowed his head, "I give up, you win, I give. Hot _fucking _damn do I give."

Brittany's smile shifted from wicked to an almost innocent reflection of pure delight so quickly that his head spun. Pulling her hand from his, she clapped and he laughed, tugging fitfully at the strip of hair on the base of his neck. "You're something else, you know that?" he asked, blowing out a slow breath to calm himself down.

Her look shifted again, all in the eyes, and suddenly she turned shy in front of him. Bright blue eyes drifted off almost unconsciously to just over his shoulder and when he turned to follow her gaze he found Santana and Sam sitting in conversation, the blonde boy's hands waving erratically over his head while Santana flipped her hair and cut the air in front of her with the hard edge of her hand, the way she did when she was making some irrefutable point.

Puck looked back to Brittany, taking in the soft way she watched his dark haired friend and how her eyes reflected a genuine smile for the first time since they left for the dance floor. He rubbed his hand across his chest and chewed fitfully on his bottom lip, being friends with the spitfire brunette had given him certain insights into the power of denial and he wondered if anyone was ever as oblivious as they seemed. Especially Brittany and the way she had cut to the quick of him in a second. There was a heavy feeling in his chest and he felt a strong pull of fondness for the dancer, nearly same he felt for Santana.

"Buy you a drink?" he asked, offering her his elbow and jerking his head across the way towards the bar, the question rumbling from the back of his throat. "We can talk more about your prowess in bed and then you can tell me where you learned those _moves _because I know, I _know_ that shit didn't come from ballet."

It was enough to draw him back into her attention and the look she gave him was somewhere between smirk and smile, all teasing at the corners and if she was surprised that he knew what style of dance she studied then it didn't show. Instead, she threaded her own arm through the curve of his and leant into his side in a not-quite-gentle way, "That conversation is going to take way more than just one drink."

"Babe," he nudged her back in a similar manner, "I'll buy you the whole damn bar if that's what it takes."

!

"Hey, that looks like- Rachel!"

Mike winced at the abrupt change in his girlfriend's volume but gamely let himself be tugged along the walkway to where a dark haired girl was standing just outside of a theatre. Once they reached her, Tina let go of him to embrace the other girl and as they chattered on he tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. It didn't take long for them to catch up or for Tina to remember she wasn't alone.

"Rachel, I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Mike Chang," she swung her hand back around to wrap it around his bicep and pull him closer into the conversation. "Mike, this is my friend Rachel Berry. We're doing volunteer hours at the same regional theatre in the city. She has got to have one of the most amazing voices I've ever heard in my life."

The girl blushed prettily under the praise but the set of her shoulders showed that she was both used to and adoring of it. "Thank you, Tina, but it takes more than one voice- exceptional though it may be- to do the work we do. It takes a village and what have you, and our village would not move half as well if it weren't for your fresh and innovative take on our choreography."

"Thanks, Rach," Tina rolled her eyes softly but gave the other girl a smile. Mike got the feeling that it was a common sort of interaction between the two of them and grinned, glad that Tina was branching out and making friends outside of Fordham. They made small talk for a little while longer, Mike learned the petite brunette was New York born and bred, that she was studying performing arts at NYU and was apparently trying to convert his carnivore of a girlfriend towards veganism.

He was about to ask her if she knew Santana, the only person he spent any amount of time with that also studied at NYU, but got caught up on the time before he had the chance. "Whoa hey, T, we gotta go or we'll be late for our show."

"Oh, alright." She broke off from him for a moment to hug the slightly taller brunette, "I'll see you Thursday, Rach?"

"Yes, of course, I wouldn't dream of missing a rehearsal. Especially so close to opening night, two weeks you know!" she seemed aghast at the very thought, speaking the last part in an accent different from her normal one and lightly gripping the tops of Tina arms in exuberance. It must have been another inside joke because she began smiling brightly when the gothic girl laughed, pulling her back into another hug.

"Michael, it was truly a pleasure to meet you," she clasped his hand in her own and he was impressed by the firmness of her grip.

He smiled, natural enthusiasm and confidence something he recognized and tended to be drawn to in people, and this girl had it in spades. "It was nice meeting you too, Rachel."

"Now, I hope you realize I will be expecting to see you on opening night. Front and center, young man, as is a proper showing of support for your wildly talented girlfriend and newest friend," she winked at Tina next to him, buoyed when he laughed and threw his free arm over his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. My dance partner and I are wicked stoked, planned a whole night around her," he released her hand to swoop down and press a kiss against Tina's temple. "And I'm looking forward to hearing you sing now."

"You should be," she blew them both a kiss and they continued on their way.

"She seemed nice," Mike observed when they got so far away and Tina tucked her arm back into his, humming her agreement. They were nearly a block away when the tall boy felt a sort of itch between his shoulder blades and turned back. He couldn't really make her out any longer as she had moved further back into the alcove she had been waiting by, but he could just make out her exuberance as she embraced a taller blonde girl as she exited the same restaurant . He frowned, narrowing his eyes to try and get a better view but they were too far away.

"You okay?" Tina tugged on his jacket to regain his attention.

"Yeah," he shook his head, turning a soft smile down on her, "Sorry, just thought I saw someone I recognized."

!

Puck shifted his stance to make room for her at the bar, reaching out a hand to the small of her back in order to steady her as she sat at an empty stool. She smiled in thanks but it was teasing at the edges, like she was more amused by the action than anything else, before shifting a blinding smile to the man behind the bar. He had black hair gelled up to points, a thin goatee and a neck that looked too thick for his own head (in the opinion of the mo-hawked lad). He leant his palms against the bartop and grinned toothily at the dancer. "What can I get'cha, sweetheart?" his accent was thick and marked him for a Brooklyn-boy and had Puck rolling his eyes.

"I'll have a Jack and Coke and she'll take an Amaretto Sour," he cut in, ignoring the look he was getting from Brittany and focusing on matching the other guy stare-for-stare.

The bartender pressed his lips and flicked grey eyes between the two of them but she didn't object and he wasn't backing down so he cut his losses and twisted his mouth into a smirk, backing off, "Sure thing, buddy."

Puck waited until he walked away before turning back to Brittany, only to find her watching him and looking just shy of bursting out in laughter. "I wanted to apologize about, you know, earlier," he waved a hand about vaguely. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"You didn't," she responded amusedly, tone frank and almost absentminded.

Experience told him that when a woman took that kind tone she usually meant the opposite of whatever she was saying and he floundered. "It's just- I know some people get pretty torn up about shit like that and I don't want you to think I'm not down with the, uh…" his hands twitched and then he made vees with his middle and pointer fingers and mashed them together. He looked at her imploringly, "You know?"

Blue eyes narrowed on the action and she rolled her jaw, "Okay, now I'm a little offended."

"Oh, right. Sorry," Puck dropped his hands sheepishly.

"S'okay," she shrugged, smiling once more at the bartender when he dropped off their drinks. Puck tipped his chin in recognition and assumed the conversation concluded until he noticed the way Brittany worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Can I ask you why you said that then? Why you asked?"

He took a sip of his drink and shrugged. "Santana."

"Santana?" Brittany furrowed her eyebrows, chewing on the straw in her drink.

"Santana," he nodded, raising his glass to his mouth and taking another sip. It took him a moment to realize that Brittany's attention was still focused on him and she was frowning slightly at the side of his face. Puck blinked, matched her expression and tried to figure out what might have upset her. "Oh! Dude, no. Not like she _wanted_ me to say that or anything. God, if she knew she would-" he shuddered at whatever thought he had at what Santana would do to him but pressed on. "It's just that- well, Santana's a fighter not a lover, know what I mean? Girl's got one hell of a right cross - especially for a southpaw - but her real weapons, the ones she'll fall back on time and time again, are _words_. She's scary verbal, believe me, I've seen her reduce grown men to tears via verbal smack down _alone_."

Brittany didn't look entirely convinced. "And that has what to do with you being an ass to me?"

"Because sooner or later- and me? I'm banking on sooner over later," he leant towards her, settling a hand over her forearm in consideration, "she's going to say something stupid, something that she might not mean but means for it to hurt." He took another drink and offered her a rueful smile, "It's just kind of what she does and _when_ she does, well, I just want to know you aren't going to wimp out after the first swing. If you're going to be friends with her and if I'm going to back you on that, then I got to know you're down for the _whole _fight. Ya dig?"

Brittany toyed with the glass before her, taking in his words. It was a lot to think about he was sure and it was probably something she would have eventually come to realize on her own but Puck was of a mind that the more you know going in, the better the outcome was likely to be. He watched her think from the corner of his eye before she nodded once, decisively, and turned her bright smile onto him. "Dig," she answered finally, raising her glass.

The dark haired New Yorker blinked at the offer and realized suddenly that Brittany was less blunt and more succinct, she didn't say much but what she did say was more than enough. He could appreciate that in a chick. Smiling, Puck picked up his own drink and _clink_ed it to hers in response. "Sweet," he took a sip and flagged down the bartender with his free hand, "Do you so shots? We should do shots."

She snickered at how quickly he was getting excited, waving a couple of fingers between the two of them and ordering a round. The bartender slapped a pristine white towel over his shoulder and gave them a wry look. He picked up two shot glasses, filled them with a clear liquid from a bottle Brittany didn't recognize and nodded when Puck told him to '_put it on his tab'_.

"Okay," he nudged one of them towards her and picked up the other, "So… you a top or a bottom?" Brittany quirked up an eyebrow in an expression that looked both well rehearsed and foreign on her face and he shook his head at himself, "No, you're right. Drinks first, dirty sex talk later. Salute!"

!

"No, you're an idiot," she brushed a heavy wave of dark hair back over her shoulder in the same way she brushed off his passionate and apparently well thought out argument. Honestly, she was sure that whatever point he was trying to make was probably valid but she had lost interest in the conversation before it had ever started and nothing he said could change that.

Sam didn't appear to get that, however, and when he opened his mouth to continue she reached across the table and flicked him solidly between the eyebrows. "No," she sounded out, sternly shaking her finger.

The muscles of his face twitched between several different expressions before landing in a pout. He sighed, falling back into his chair and sulkily downed the rest of his beer.

Satisfied that he was done trying Santana went back to her own drink and let her attention wander back to where Puck and Brittany were dancing only to find them gone. She tensed her legs and raised herself to get a better look but still she couldn't find them. A sort of panic shot threw her before she could stop it, across her shoulders and down to her toes. It wasn't that she didn't trust them, it was that she didn't trust _him_. Not when he wasn't in her direct line of sight anyways.

"Did you see where Britt and Puck went?" she asked the guitarist without looking back to him. He didn't answer right away and when she glanced down to him, he was frowning down into his empty glass so she slapped the back of her hand to his shoulder.

"Ow! What?" he blinked at her, frowning so that the corners of oversized mouth pointed almost all the way down.

"Britt and Puck," she repeated, gesturing out, "Help me find them."

For a second it looked like he was going to say something, something she probably wasn't going to like, so Santana narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that had him stumbling from his seat and in the direction she pointed him in. She watched him, eyes narrowed on his back, until he was swallowed up by the crowd and she couldn't see the top of his stupid wannabe Bieber haircut anymore before turning in the opposite direction.

She scoured the dance floor, checked the women's restroom and the area in front of the stage where a moderate type of moshing was beginning to form, but there was no bright flash of blonde hair or Brittany's particular shade of blue eyes. After ten minutes she was tipping past annoyed, eighteen found her frustrated and at the twenty-four minute mark she was rounding angry and angling towards livid and the bar which turned out to be exactly where she should have gone in the first place.

Brittany was seated at the bar, with the mo-hawked boy at her right and his bandmate on her left. The blonde must have said something because, Puck immediately threw his head back in laughter and Sam's pale cheeks flared brightly. She watched the three of them interact for a moment, the way Puck stood close to Brittany's side and angled towards her in what passed for his version of chivalry, while the blonde girl was relaxed under his attention and open to the boy on her other side. For his part, Sam was making sharp gestures with his hands, face contorting in a way that made her think he was mid-impression and smiling all the way through it, totally at ease in their company.

Santana squeezed her way between her blonde and the idiot she called her best friend just as the bartender set down tall glasses, half full of dark liquid in front of each of her friends before reaching to grab three shot glasses from under the counter and the Baileys and a bottle of Jameson from the back wall. Her eyes narrowed on the sight. "You guys are doing car bombs?" she asked, tone disbelieving as she glanced backwards at Puck's shit-eating grin. He waggled his eyebrows as he gingerly took hold of the now full shot glass, ultimately ducking from under her glare. Sam's expression was sheepish when she twisted back around and she rolled her eyes at him, "Really stellar detective work there, Batman. Seriously, good lookin' out."

"Hey!" he objected but wilted under her gaze, shifting his own shot glass closer to him in a sulk, "I found them, didn't I?"

She sneered at the back of his head and then quickly rearranged her features to look softly down at where Brittany was sitting, expecting to find bright blue eyes watching her in amusement. It twisted in her to realize they weren't. Instead, the dancer was sniffing unsurely at the glass of what Santana knew to be Guinness and looking kind of adorable. "You ever done one before?"

"No," Brittany frowned around the word, her whole face reflecting her hesitance.

"Ever had a Guinness?" She shook her head to the negative, blonde hair falling across her eyes and reached up to brush it away herself while the smaller girl's fingers twitched traitorously on the counter top. "Ever done a bomb?" she pressed on and got another negative response.

Santana cracked a grin. "Here," slipped her hand over the pale wrist that was angled around the glass, manipulating it to drag the beer between them, "It's not that bad, I guess. You just drop the shot in the glass and drink."

She felt her breath catch when the blonde finally did look up, nose crinkled in disbelief and eyes narrowed cutely, "That's it?"

"Well," she plucked the last shot glass up by the rim and set it down gently so it wouldn't slosh, "You have to chug it really fast because it curdles." Brittany's brow furrowed in genuine confusion and Santana amended, "It kinds of goes solid. Like old milk."

"Oh," Brittany wrinkled her nose and glanced back down to the two glasses before her. She looked a little ill at just the thought of it. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not," Santana snorted, grunting when Puck nudged her in the back.

He popped up over her shoulder and leveled a look at the two women in his party, "Are we going to do this sometime today or just stand around talking about it?"

"I wouldn't mind talking about it a little more," Sam groused, looking a little green himself as he poked the shot glass just enough to break the surface tension of the whiskey on top.

The mo-hawked boy chuckled. "Bottoms up, ladies, and I do mean _ladies_," he emphasized with a pointed glare at his bandmate.

Brittany still looked unsure so Santana dropped her back hand to the blonde's shoulder and used the other to softly pluck her digits from the glass before replacing it with her own. She nodded to the shot glass and grinned, "Ready?"

"My hero," the dancer gushed, prompting a flush to stain the other girl's cheeks. She picked up the Baileys/Jameson mix by the rim and let it hover over the Guinness in Santana's hand.

"On three?" Sam asked, positioning up his own shot glass.

"Three!" Puck shouted and Brittany immediately let go, watching in awe as Santana threw the glass back. The blonde found herself staring at how the tan throat moved as she chugged, long and slender and for a moment she was mesmerized. It shattered when Puck slammed down his glass with a heavy _clunk _followed shortly by Santana's and then a second later with Sam's, who sputtered through a cough, repeating, "_gross, gross, gross."_

Somewhere in the background Brittany was aware of Puck all out howling, but she was too distracted by the grimace painted across her friend's face. "You okay, honey?" she tilted her hand under Santana jaw and brushed her thumb over the corner of her lips.

"Yeah," the skin grew hot under the pad of her thumb and Santana raised a fist to her mouth to cough into, "Just a lot of… Irish."

"Mhmm," Brittany found herself humming, nodded a little as she pressed lightly at he spot where Santana's dimple would appear when she smiled widely and watched as her deep brown eyes took on a glassy quality when the alcohol hit. They both jolted when Puck popped up between them, draping himself across their shoulders and nearly toppling all three of them. Brittany dropped her hand while the other girl leant back as far as she could under his arm.

"Not going to lie," he looked between the two of them and grinned lasciviously, "but you two ladies are probably the hottest pieces of ass in this joint, however, because blondie here is all about the uh," his arms tensed when he tried to bring his hands together but the girls weren't giving him any space so he gave the blonde a pointed look and she rolled her eyes.

"Right, all about the," she made the same vees he had earlier, but stopped before she could complete the action when she noticed Santana's questioning look, flushing under her gaze.

"Totally," he nodded and jerked his chin in his friend's direction, "And S here would beat me to unconsciousness- and _not _in the fun way," she threw her elbow into his gut. "My point being," he wheezed, "I'm not getting any action hanging around you fine specimens."

Santana rolled her eyes and was fully prepared to tell him off when Brittany pointed down the bar, "The chick with the black hair and cheek stud has been checking you out since we got to the bar."

Puck followed her line of sight to where said girl was indeed keeping an eye on him. "Hello, gorgeous," he whistled, letting go of Santana while pulling the other girl into a tighter one-armed hug. Gently he pressed his knuckles to the front of Brittany's shoulder, "Good lookin' out, blondie."

"Wait," Santana stopped him before he could take more than a step, curling her hand to stop it from reaching out for him. She was confused and it coupled with the anxiety she had been experienced at the two of them meeting, making her suspicious when he was willing to just walk away. "That's it?"

"What more is there?" he shrugged, stepping backwards from them and grinning that too wide smile that meant he thought he was more than a few steps ahead of her. He raised his hand to his ear like a mock phone, "I'll call you tomorrow, yeah?" And then he was down the bar, laying it on thick with the girl Brittany had pointed out.

Santana shook her head in disbelief at his antics, but she found herself smiling in relief when she turned back to find Brittany's smile to be just as skeptical. "That's it?" she repeated lowly, forcing the smaller girl to lean in a hairsbreadth closer. The blonde turned on the barstool until she could frame Santana's hips with her knees.

"I guess." She pulled her plump bottom lip between her teeth and thought for a second, but Brittany didn't take to well with being ignored by the girl standing in the vee of her legs, so she gently settled her hands high on her waist and gave her a gentle shake. "Oh," Santana blinked, smile shifting to something softer, "hi."

"Hey," the blonde twitched her thumbs and peered up, noticing that Santana's mocha rich eyes still looked hazy and somewhat disconnected. "How are you feeling?"

"Drunk," Santana answered promptly, wincing at the way it sounded tumbling from her lips. "A little bit. I'm a little bit drunk," she amended, wanting to drop her head but unwilling to stop being able to stare into the dancer's eyes.

"Just a little bit?" Brittany teased, digging her fingers into Santana's back and smiling when her eyelids fluttered and she swayed under her hands. "Do you want to go?"

"Nope," she shook her head and dropped her hands to the bend in the taller girl's elbows, smirking, "I wanna dance." Brittany's answering smile was blinding and Santana felt herself getting more and more lightheaded at the sight of it.

"Sooo," Sam drew out awkwardly, startling both girls who had all but forgotten he was standing there. "Is it my turn with the dance goddess?" he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and flushing when he realized that they were both watching him, one with outright hostility and the other with a thinly veiled sort of amusement.

Brittany was smiling at him, the corners of her mouth lifting shyly as her eyes flickered between him and back to her friend standing between her legs. She didn't seem sure of how to proceed, torn between knowing what she wanted to say and remaining open and friendly to Santana's friends.

Luckily Santana found her bearings in that moment of hesitation and with a gentle nudge she moved out from her spot at the bar and rounded on him. He flinched but she just reached up to tussle his hair, "Not in this life or the next, Evans." She stuck out her tongue, ignored his affronted look and reached back to wrap her hand around Brittany's bicep. The dancer didn't offer any resistance as she was tugged up from her seat and back towards the dance floor. Instead she gave the quickly abandoned boy a sympathetic shrug and a half smile that didn't quite match the twinkle in her bright eyes.

"Hey!" he shouted, half-defeated, "Santana! What gives, man?"

"You said it yourself, Trouty," she laughed with one more backwards look and a wink. "I don't share well."

!

Tina was only half asleep when she heard the door to the common room slam open followed by a loud '_shhh!_' and a fit of giggles. She groaned, recognizing her roommate's attempts to be quite, and rolled out of her bed.

"Oh! Hey, T," the blonde offered in a sort of half-hushed voice, struggling to juggle two purses, her coat, a pair of red heels and a clearly intoxicated Santana Lopez, "How was your date?"

The smaller girl smirked, crossed her arms and leant against the doorframe leading into the bedroom. "It was fine, Britt. How was your night? Looks like one had a good time at least."

"Yeah," she bobbed her head, kicking the door shut and dropping everything except Santana on the floor. "Think it'd be alright for her to crash here tonight?"

"Geez, I dunno, B," Tina ran her fingers through her hair in mock thought and snickered when the dancer frowned. "I'm kidding," she rolled her eyes, "Need any help?"

"Please," Brittany groaned while Santana giggled. Tina disappeared into the bedroom to grab an extra set of flannel pajama bottoms from her dresser and a T-shirt from her roommate's pile of folded laundry. When she found them in the bathroom, Brittany was coaching Santana through brushing her teeth with one of the extra toothbrushes Tina's mother made sure she brought with her.

"I got pajamas," she said, raising the clothes in an offer, "Do you think she can handle-?" Her question was cut off when Santana undid the side zipper to her dress and stripped down to her panties and strapless bra right there between them. Brittany clapped her hand over her mouth to try and stifle her laughter while Tina slapped her own hand over her eyes, "_Christ_, Santana! A little warning next time!"

Because she was purposely not looking she completely missed the telltale trembling of the girl's bottom lip as well as the quick well of tears in her eyes, so she was completely caught off guard when a gut-wrenching sob echoed off the walls of the too small dorm bathroom. She glanced up just as the look of utter surprise registered across Brittany's pale features seconds before the dancer found herself with an armful of half-naked, sobbing Santana.

"_Tina thinks I'm ugly_," she cried, clutching at the material of the shirt Brittany was wearing and shivering full-bodily in the cool air.

"What?" Brittany looked more phased by the fact that Santana wasn't wearing much as she pawed at her torso and appeared to be attempting to bury herself in her neck rather than the fact she was completely hysterical at the drop of a hat. Now it was Tina's turn to physically block her laughter at the horrified look on her roommate's face. "No she doesn't," the dancer tried to soothe her, looking all sorts of ridiculous with the way her hands were twitching a good few inches above the smaller girl's back, like she was terrified to touch her.

"_Yes, she does_!" Santana continued to wail, talking into the press of Brittany's neck so that the majority of her words were lost under Tina's ill contained giggles.

"_Help me," _Brittany mouthed in a harsh whisper but her roommate looked more fit to be rolling on the ground than to be of any real help, so she sucked it up and finally dropped her hands over the smooth skin of Santana's exposed back, rubbing small circles between her shoulder blades and just above the small of her back. "Shhh, honey," she comforted, using one hand to pull back thick, dark hair and expose the side of her head where she could place a single, soft kiss against her temple awkwardly. That seemed to calm the other girl down a good deal, so Brittany continued to rock her a little and murmur quiet things into her hairline until she was almost entirely still.

"Santana Lopez is an emotional drunk," Tina observed, her voice taking on that particular lilt that meant she was still laughing on the inside, "I never would have called that."

Brittany rolled her eyes, thankful that Santana apparently hadn't heard the remark and held her hand out for the clothes still clutched in her roommate's hands. "That's because whenever you drink you think everything's hilarious and that everyone feels the same way."

Between the two of them they were able to maneuver Santana into the pajama bottoms and Tina snorted, "Not like you have much room to talk, Judge-y McJudgerson." She forked over the t-shirt to the blonde and gestured to the dancer's attire, "You aren't exactly wearing the same clothes you left in, now are you?"

"Oh," Brittany looked down at the top she was wearing, a long sleeve flannel button down that she was pretty sure Sam had been wearing at the beginning of the night, "No, I guess not."

Tina smiled and shook her, somehow endeared to the blonde's tendency to take on the stripper persona when she's had more than a few. She watched while Brittany gently pried the smaller girl from her body so she could thread her arms through the sleeves and pull the shirt down to cover her fully before breathing a sigh of relief.

"See?" Brittany cupped her hands over Santana's cheeks and brushed her thumbs across her cheeks, gathering up the few lingering tears that remained. "Doesn't that feel better?"

Santana nodded drowsily under her hold and tipped her forehead to lean against the taller girl's collar bone. "M'sleepy."

"Almost there," she promised, trying to reach around the drunk girl to the sink but was prevented when Santana's hands slipped under her arms in a loose hug. "Uh, T, could you get me a wash cloth?"

Tina ran the water until it was warm and wet the square cloth, watching from the corner of her eye at how gentle Brittany was being. They managed to wash off the smeared mascara and clear up the evidence of Santana's fit of hysteria. "Okay, honey, bedtime," Brittany pressed into her hair and when Santana swayed on the spot, she reached down and picked her up in a cradle hold, carrying her to the bedroom while Santana mumbled inaudibly into her shirt.

Tina followed behind them, cleaning up the small mess and turning off lights and when she entered their shared bedroom, Brittany was tucking Santana into her own bed and looking rather fond of the way the girl curled herself around her pillow. "She looks comfy," Tina smiled, until she noticed the way Brittany had started to frown at the corners of her eyes. "You okay, Britt?" she asked, tugged at the rolled sleeves of the borrowed shirt her roommate still wore.

Brittany looked startled at the touch, blinking rapidly and shaking her head she tucked her thumbs in the curl of her fists and forced a smile, "Just not looking forward to sleeping on the floor."

"Why would you?" Tina snorted. It was something they had discovered when Brittany's sister had spent the night during their first month there, that the dancer was too long for the little love seat that came standard in the dorm room and the floor was probably the most uncomfortable one in the world. But one of the other things they had learned was that after Tina drank she liked to cuddle and Brittany was probably the best big spoon she'd ever met. It was just one of those quirks of hers that Tina had never come across before college, but was infinitely glad to have learned. "You're sleeping with me. I could use a good cuddle tonight."

Brittany had her wrapped in a big bear of a hug before she could blink and Tina laughed, patting her on the hip to get her to let go after a minute. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome, I know. You can tell me all about it in the morning. Sleep first."

The dancer let go and winked. "'Jammies first. Here's your warning," she teased before whipping the flannel shirt off to reveal her pink and black polka dotted bra and kicking out of her pants. Tina flushed despite the fact that it was another one of those things Brittany did all the time and turned to get into her bed while the blonde changed.

She was turned on her side and comfortable when she felt the mattress dip where Brittany had set her knee, but before the girl could make it further there was a shuffling and a gasp.

"You aren't going to cuddle with me? You think she's pretty than me, don't you?" Santana's voice was thin and watery and she sounded back on the verge of tears, "She's all alternative and cool and shit and… and…" Tina crackled a smile, twisting to look up at where Brittany hovered over her with her head down and upper body shaking in silent laughter.

"Go," she shoved at the dancer's shoulder, "Before she breaks down about how amazing I am."

"Night, T, sleep tight," Brittany dipped to kiss her on the brow and stood up from the bed smoothly. She slipped under the covers of her own bed next to Santana and reassured her, "Of course not, you know you're my favorite."

"Good," Santana intoned seriously, "My favorite too."

"What am I? Chopped liver?" Tina joked, turning over on her other side to where she would face the two girls but they weren't paying her any attention, "No, don't worry about me. I'll just be over here all alone with my feelings of inadequacy and abandonment."

"Okay then, good night, Tina," Brittany raised her hand into the darkness and waved.

"Good night, Brittany," she returned the gesture, "Good night, Santana."

But she was already asleep, curled up under Brittany's arm.

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><p><em>Thoughts?<em>

The new season's starting soon and I have mixed feelings about it. Okay, well I have had a love/hate relationship with Glee since episode one so that's nothing new, but just… there's a lot of new characters. And I already have so many favorites that get so little screen time as is. Like Tina…

No soapbox today, so you're all safe from that, but I will say the Starbuck's pumpkin spice lattes are back and they're pretty much the greatest things in my life right now so you know. You should try one. Because they're like drinking Autumn.


	19. In Which We Have to Embrace the Crazy

Title: This Is For Real

Inspired by: Flavor of the Weak by American Hi-Fi  
><span>This Is For Real <span>by Motion City Soundtrack

Summary: Santana Lopez is fine with helping her roommate cheat on her girlfriend because it doesn't effect her in the slightest and to be honest she's just a little bored. Until she meets the girl, that is. Brittana Faberry Quitt

Rated: T for some language

Mistakes are mine, Glee is not. I'm not sure I'd want it anymore anyways…

AN: Still alive, for the most part anyway. Just a little more ink-scarred than the last time we spoke. And I feel like I should just start every new chapter with a blanket apology for the amount time between updates. Meh. Big 'ol shout out to my buddy, xvolcom11x. Happy (moderately belated) Birthday, kiddo! In lieu of a birthday drink, I offer you this chapter… enjoy. Or don't. Your choice.

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><p>Santana awoke with a start and sat up, closing her eyes as the room tilted around her. Save for the thin strip of streetlight breaking around the window shade it was almost pitch black around her but she could tell how late it was in the heavy feel of her arms and shoulders. She was also still rather intoxicated and not entirely convinced that she wasn't actually asleep and dreaming so when the mattress under her hand shuddered Santana giggled. She continued to giggle the more her mattress shifted, trying the smother the sound under her other hand, until her mattress <em>groaned<em> and she realized it wasn't her mattress at all.

It was Brittany.

The laughter died on her lips as she shifted her hips so that she facing the taller girl and able to look down to where her hand was pressed overtop of Brittany's ribcage, the base of her palm slotted towards her sleep steady heartbeat and the outside of her wrist barely brushing the underside of her breast. Santana wet her lips and cinched her thumb to catch onto the t-shirt underhand, pulling until the slightest sliver of midriff was visible. Then before her whiskey soaked brain could catch up she did it again and again until she could lightly scratch her thumbnail against bare skin.

Brittany shivered but Santana couldn't know if it was because of her ministrations or because of the sudden exposure to cool air so she did it again, slower and just the slightest bit harder. Strangely delighted, she watched the defined muscles of Brittany's abdomen tense and cast the smallest shadows in the low light. Once more swipe of her thumb and Santana was left memorized by the gooseflesh left in the wake of contracting muscles and her alcohol addled brain had never seen a sight so utterly… _delicious_ before in her life. Her skin prickled fiercely with a want so deep and so unnamable that she felt tears well up in her eyes at the sheer impossibility of it.

"_S'tana_," Brittany mumbled, reaching up a hand to cover Santana's and curl her fingers about her wrist.

The smaller girl started at the warmth that spread at the touch. "Sorry," she croaked, voice cracking. When did her mouth get so dry?

Brittany squeezed her wrist gently but made no movement to cover herself back up and after another beat Santana flicked her eyes from Brittany's stomach to her closed eyes and relaxed face. She ran her tongue along the line of her teeth and twitched her thumb, drawing an unconscious smile from the blonde and another from herself.

"Hey, Britt," she whispered, shifting her shoulders and hips so she was facing the sleeping girl. Brittany slept on, however, completely oblivious to the way Santana trailed her fingers over exposed skin and it was perhaps the lack of reaction that frustrated Santana the most. She wanted to feel taut muscles coil under her hands. Was Brittany one to scratch her nails lightly down thighs or splay her hands over the contours of her back as she arched up? She wanted to _hear_ the hitch in Brittany's breath as she raked her teeth along her bare collarbone. Was the blonde more prone to moans or whimpers? She wanted pale eyelashes to flutter open over bright blue eyes so that she could read her thoughts and desires there, without the need for words. Would her eyes darken to a stormy blue or would her pupils dilate to a sort of hungry pitch black?

But the longer Brittany remained unresponsive the more Santana had to fight to keep her eyes open and the harder it was to resist the pull of unconsciousness. She tucked herself into Brittany's side, throwing her leg over Brittany's and tugging the blanket up over the both of them. Brittany moved slightly as the smaller girl's weight settled over her, her arm reaching up to wrap around Santana's back and causing her to press a smile into the front of the dancer's shoulder. Her heartbeat fluttered in her chest and the answers she wanted to know were already beginning to trickle out of her grasp and by the time she would awake she would forget she ever had questions to ask.

!

It was habit alone that had Brittany waking up just as the sun broke the horizon. She couldn't see it, not from the single south facing window in her dorm bedroom and especially not from behind Tina's blackout shades, but after years of having to be up and out of the Fabray residence before Quinn's parents woke up followed by early morning Cheerios' practices the pinks and oranges of sunrise had practically seeped into her skin, marking her.

Most mornings she would roll out of bed unhindered and begin her day because for years Brittany had never found a reason to dally in bed when the whole world moved and breathed outside her door. But that particular morning, with her brain pounding dully against her temples and pulse tapping a thick beat from her fingertips to her toes, Brittany was resistant to the pull of the coming day. She felt sluggish, lingering in that hazy half moment between sleep and wakefulness and eerily content to just lay there.

But her ingrained habit appeared to have a stronger hold on her than a once over desire and with every _ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump _that thrummed along her body she became more aware of her surroundings and realized it might be more than desire holding her in place. Heat and weight radiated all along her right side from her knees to her neck, it wrapped high across her stomach and tucked over both her shoulders, it secured her- grounded her. Warmed, she tried to inspect the sensation only to find she was partially trapped under something. Brittany shifted and the some_thing_ shifted in response making her realize it was really a some_one_, someone that was soft and solid and smelled like whiskey and mint.

Slightly confused, she scrunched up her face and blearily squinted down at the mess of dark hair fanned out across her chest and flexed her arm around the body molded against her side. She wet her lips and laid back down, twisting her fingers into long strands as she let the comfort of the hold lull her back into a daze.

Brittany didn't realize she was smiling until she felt herself frown suddenly as her body tensed and her eyes snapped open. Something didn't add up- something big- because this felt intimate and familiar but oh so very, very different. She cast her mind around to find the differences, like Quinn's light, sheared hair and tendency to roll away in the middle of the night. Brittany had never known her girlfriend to twist her hand into the material of her own sleep shirt and hold on tightly, not even on the night her world fell apart.

As a natural born cuddler, it wasn't the first time she'd woken up in bed with someone other than her girlfriend but never had it felt quite like this. Going through the short list of people it might possibly be, she took a deep breath and caught a scent that blasted her back to the previous night. To loud music, louder laughter and electric blue shots. To the sweltering heat on the packed floor and dancing until she could feel the sweat gather at the small of her back, to twisting and moving and pressing her hands against a toned stomach and flared hips. To long, dark hair and caramel shoulders and a red, red dress.

_Santana_, she realized with a heavy breath, reconciling the body laying against her that morning with the one that had moved under her hands the night before.

Calmed by the recognition, she let herself relax back into the bed and reached up her free hand to gently brush her fingers through silky strands of ink black to reveal the shadow crossed features of her friend. Santana wrinkled her nose at the soft tickle of hair across her cheek and Brittany smiled wider at the way she turned, unconsciously burrowing her face deeper into the dancer's shoulder and murmuring her discontent at the intrusion.

She continued to gently scratch her nails along Santana's hairline causing the brunette to shift even closer and grip onto her shirt a little tighter. Brittany let her eyes slide close and took another deep breath, reveling in the feeling of the arm draped across her stomach and the hot breath blowing against her collarbone. In that hazy half moment, just that single solitary moment that was more dream than reality her mind wandered unchecked to a fantasy where this was a normal everyday occurrence. Where she could wake up feeling heavy and whole, wrapped under a strong arm with the lingering smell of the lilac of Santana's shampoo in the air. Where all it would take was just a twist of her hips to pin the smaller girl beneath her, where she could press her palm to a caramel colored hip and dig her fingers into Santana's side, track her thumb over her protruding bone of her hip and wait for her deep, dark eyes to flutter open so that she could dip her chin and take Santana's full bottom lip between her own and-

She choked on her breath and snapped her eyes open, body going rigid again as she barely stopped herself from scrambling out of her bed and away from Santana's sleep tight grip.

She didn't- that wasn't- _why would she think that?_

Brittany couldn't breath- not without inhaling Santana's scent- and it was messing with her head. Now, quickly and painfully, the body draped over her own was _too _heavy and she was _too_ hot under the covers. She couldn't think, clearly or at all, and she started to panic. Shuddering, she had to get out of there before she did something she would regret.

Carefully (_oh so carefully_) she used her free hand to pry Santana's fingers from the material of her shirt and shifted, pulling her other arm free and using it for leverage to push herself over the other girl without waking her up. There was a moment of alarm when she was hovering over Santana and the smaller girl rolled over between her outstretched arms, trying to find the warmth Brittany had just been providing, that had her holding her breath and praying. When Santana failed to find the comfort she had just been deprived of, she just grumbled in her sleep and wrapped her arms around the blonde's pillow, falling back into a still sleep with a frown creasing her face.

Brittany dropped her head and sighed in relief, continuing her silent roll off the bed and all but sprinting out of the room. She needed to clear her head and for that she needed to run. She just wondered how long it would take running in the below freezing temperature outside to cool her overheated face and body.

!

Santana groaned, pressing her face further into the pillow and fighting the pull of consciousness that the day brought. She twisted her neck and flexed her forearms, systematically tensing and relaxing every muscle in her body starting with her calves and ending her hands as she took stock of her body. Once she was able to account for all of her fingers and toes she cracked open an eye and glared about the dark room.

While it was true that she had gotten around in high school- and Puck could spend hours regaling a willing audience about her legacy of promiscuity- Santana had a fairly stellar record for avoiding such God-awful clichés like the Walk of Shame and unintentional drunken sleepovers. So much so that when she realized the was waking up in a strange bed in a strange room with the dull pounding of a hangover behind her eyes and no recollection of how she got there, she panicked and promptly fell out of the bed.

Grunting as she hit the floor, her legs hopelessly tangled in the purple and blue stripped comforter that had come over the edge with her, Santana waited until the world stopped spinning to attempt sitting up. She regretted it immediately, curling her knees to her chest and dropping her head into her hands, inadvertently knocking herself in the forehead with something else that had fallen out of the bed with her. It was soft clutched in her hand with a hard plastic button pressing into the skin just above her right eyebrow and Santana held it there if only because she was convinced that moving would be the more painful option. After a minute or so, once she lost the ability to feel the world shifting underneath her, she pulled back with a groan and blearily turned the object over in her hands.

It was a small stuffed animal, a baby goat if the wispy little beard and soft stubby horns were any indication, that she also failed to recognize. Not at all comforted, she tossed the toy over her shoulder and tried to pull her legs free from the confining material but fumbled when she figured out it was more than just the comforter encasing her. She frowned down at the flannel pajama bottoms she was wearing, knowing they were something she never wore to bed and was certain she hadn't even owned in years.

"Okay, Santana, no need to freak out." She forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose and hold it for a minute, muttering when she breathed out, "Someone just brought you home last night, dressed you in flannel and," curious she plucked at the shirt she was wearing, a soft gray tee with the American Red Cross emblem on the front, "well, at least they donate blood, whoever they are."

Determined now, she dropped her hands and tried to push herself into a stand but got dizzy halfway there, barely managing to catch herself on the small bedside table before she ended up on the floor again. Hissing out a curse she threw herself back onto the bed and took another couple of moments to just breath normally.

The world came back to equilibrium and she pushed her fingers threw her tangled mess of her bed head. The night before came in flashes when she tried to think about it, twisting together bright lights, soft skin and blue eyes. She fisted her hands in her hair and shuddered.

_Brittany._

Santana jerked upright instinctively and her head howled in protest, sending thick waves of nausea from her throat to her stomach. Cursing her hangover and apparent inability to make sudden movements, she grabbed the pillow and pressed it between her face and knees, trying to just focus on her breathing. When she felt confident enough that her insides would stay where they were supposed to she uncurled her body and was surprised to see the little stuffed goat again clutched in her hand.

She stared into his beady little eyes and found herself thinking about Brittany. Brittany who she remembered in fractured images phantom touches from the previous night, memories of her smile and her laughter and her hands. Who she was fairly certain brought her drunk ass home and cared for her when she didn't have to and - here her memory snapped true like a camera brought into sudden focus - held her through the night like no one ever had before. It proved to be too much for her alcohol recovering brain to concentrate on, however, and she dug the heel of her hand into her temple to try and rub out the savage pounding of her headache.

It didn't help, not when what she really needed was coffee and another couple hours of sleep and what she wanted wasn't something she could define off the top of her head, especially not with the way it was swimming right then. Santana shifted slowly, opting to cross her legs overtop the bed rather than risk falling out again, and looked around the room. She was alone, Santana noticed, no matter the way her memories played out and it bothered her to realize that this would mark the second time she woke up alone after falling asleep next to Brittany.

!

Tina had just stepped back into the dorm when she heard the clatter and commotion coming from her and Brittany's shared bedroom. Immediately worried, she rushed in but stopped herself just shy of wrenching the door open. She could hear string of curse words and grumbling muffled by the door and she listened for a second until she was satisfied that Santana hadn't knocked herself unconscious. She whistled as she kicked off her shoes and set down the coffees in her hands, glad to get back to her weekend tradition of Saturday morning cartoons.

She was almost through a second show and starting to worry about the coffee cooling when she heard the crack of the door opening followed by a sleep heavy groan behind her. Twisting her neck and shoulders she was able to watch as Santana poked her head through the doorway and glanced around in suspicion before her eyes narrowed in on Tina.

"Mornin' superstar," she smirked, taking in the other girl's wicked case of bedhead and sagging borrowed flannels. "How're you feeling?"

Santana rolled her jaw while she thought about replying, but the taste of stale whiskey on the back of her tongue made her stomach clench and her head spin. More images shimmered in her consciousness and for a second she swore she could feel long, cool fingers ghosting over the contours of her hips and across her stomach but when she looked down it was her own hands that were twisted into the shirt she was wearing.

Overwhelming that feeling and the confusion that bloomed in her chest because of it, was a vision of Tina biting at her hand to stop from cracking up while she herself stood there cold and ashamed and- "Oh God," Santana clapped a hand over her eyes and groaned, "I fucking cried last night, didn't I?"

Tina laughed outright at the way the other girl ground it out, like it was the worst possible thing. Santana leveled a glare at her and while Tina didn't quite quell under it, she did taper off her laughter to hold up her hand, thumb and forefinger barely a centimeter apart. "Just for a little bit."

That didn't appear to reassure her, however, only embarrass her further as she pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. "_Fu-ck_."

"It honestly wasn't that bad," Tina rolled her eyes and tucked her feet up under her body, encouraging Santana to sit down before her swaying turned more serious. "I mean, it didn't even take Britt _that _long to calm you down," she teased some more, grinning around the lip of her coffee cup.

"Fuck," Santana cursed again in frustration, pressing the heels of her hands roughly in the spaces under her eyebrows.

"Granted, there _was_ that shaky moment where we thought we lost you again after you were put to bed, but-"

"-_fuck_," Santana kicked Tina's feet out of her way and collapsed sideways into the next to the other girl. She pouted sulkily at the ceiling, crossing her arms tight across her chest and dropping her head onto the back of the couch.

The gothic girl giggled at the show she was putting on and shifted to nudge her heel at Santana's thigh, "I totally never would have pegged you for the little spoon in the super snuggle."

The brunette rolled her neck to turn her most furious glare on Tina, who was watching her with a smirk stretched across her lips and the corners of her eyes crinkled in amusement. Gravely, she stared her straight in the eyes and deadpanned, "I hate you."

The black eyeliner painted thickly around her brown eyes exaggerated the way they widened when she pouted and made her expression a shade more than comical. But Santana's face didn't waver so Tina let her own crack into a settled grin as she relaxed enough to grab the extra coffee off the table and hold it out to the other girl. "How about now?"

"Is that…?" Santana blinked at it twice before snatching the cup neatly from her hands, thankful for the lid that prevented a single drop of sweet, caffeinated liquid from spilling. She took a sip and closed her eyes with a hum of pure appreciation. "Oh sweet Jesus- how did you know?"

"Britt texted me a little while ago, told me you would be needing it this morning," she shrugged and turned back to the cartoons still playing on the television. She tried to Santana a modicum of privacy even though she couldn't help but overhear the other girl's mumbled prayer of thanksgiving.

With the aid of the caffeine now settling her stomach, Santana was better able to focus on the fact that she still didn't know where Brittany was and even though she was obviously _there _for her- caring enough to bring her back to her dorm and hold her through an alcohol induced breakdown and thoughtful enough to have her favorite kind of hangover remedy waiting for her- what Santana really wanted was for the dancer to be _physically _present. She rolled the cup between her hands and bit at the inside of her cheek, "Where is Britt by the way? She doesn't have class on Saturdays, does she?"

"Nah," Tina shook her head before giving Santana a sidelong glance. "She took off for her morning run before I woke up. Maybe an hour and a half ago?"

"Gross," Santana wrinkled her nose, having forgotten that particular quirk a little bit on purpose and Tina snickered at her stark tone. An hour and a half seemed like a long time though, especially considering the blonde wasn't back yet. "Does she normally run that long?"

"Um, not usually, no," Tina pressed her lips in thought but was distracted when her phone started to buzz in the back pocket of her grey washed skinny jeans. "She seems to be out longer the more she has on her mind though," she murmured as she clicked noiselessly at the screen.

Santana took another long sip from her coffee, wondering what could be going on in Brittany's head that could be keeping her out in the cold for that long when she seemed fine the night before but not knowing if asking about it would cross some invisible line, either between her and Tina or her and Brittany.

She was saved from a bout of indecision, however, when Tina sat up from her spot and tapped her phone to her chin with a conflicted look. "That was a girl from my study group, I'm supposed to meet them at the library to discuss our project on Chaucer. Will you be okay here until Britt gets back? If not, I guess I could blow them off for a little while longer. Or I could call Mike to give you a lift back to your place or keep you company if you would prefer."

Santana drummed her fingers along the seam of the coffee cup and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The coffee was starting to help but her head was still pounding a dull but consistent tattoo against the inside of her skull and Santana was loath to leave the relative calm of here for the tension of her own dorm, where the odds of running into Quinn were high this early in the morning. There were certain other benefits to staying too. "I'll just hang out here until B gets back, if that's cool."

"Fine by me," Tina waved off-handedly while she stood and gathered some of her stuff into a messenger bag canvassed entirely with pins of various sizes and colors. She plucked a heavy looking wool coat from the back of a chair tucked into one of the desks on the other side of the room and turned a mock stern look at Santana. "Please oblige the dorm rules while on your own. No fires, no floods and hugs not drugs. Also, if you find yourself coming to fisticuffs try and remember that bringing a gun to a knife fight is just bad manners."

Her eyebrows quirked up at the sheer absurdity of the statement and she snorted before she could stop herself. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Actually, yeah. I'm even thinking about having it embroidered on a pillow as a Christmas present for Britt," she smiled casually and shrugged on the coat, taking a moment to pull her long hair out from under the collar. "I'm pretty sure our RA thinks we're insane but I'm willing to bet we have the greatest roommate agreement ever written, hands down."

Santana blinked as she took in Brittany's roommate in an entirely new light. Whenever they'd all gone out together Tina had been the sane and practical one but she was starting to wonder if that calm, cool and collected façade was just that. "You're just as insane as Britt, aren't you?" she chuckled, shaking her head. It would certainly explain why the two of them got on so well.

Tina smiled in return but there was something more solemn and almost self-deprecating reflected in her eyes. "I faked a stutter in high school," she confessed after a moment of indecision and raised her shoulders in a shrug at Santana's bemused look. "I was so shy and so afraid of people seeing me, the _real_ me, that I did whatever I could to push them away. I got into wearing dark clothes and heavy makeup and started listening to some _really _weird music and I went through high school as the quiet, stuttering little _freak_ with exactly one friend and no life and went I got to Fordham I expected four more years of the exact same thing. But somehow I got paired up with Brittany and," she trailed off as she waved a hand around aimlessly. "I'm not sure if you noticed, Santana, but Britt doesn't exactly _do_ boundaries or convention."

Santana wasn't sure if Tina was expecting a response but she nodded nonetheless, after all it was kind of hard _not_ to notice Brittany's lack of concern for personal space and social norms.

"Want to know what I've learned, Santana?" Tina asked, but offered no time for an answer as she leant over and settled both hands on Santana's shoulders, tactfully ignoring the way the other girl tensed under her sudden intrusion, "Sometimes the best thing to do is just embrace the crazy. Life's too short otherwise."

!

It didn't take long after the door clicked shut behind the fledgling choreographer for Santana to grow restless with only the brightly colored cartoons that Tina had left playing on the television to distract her. She let her eyes drift over the room with more than just a cursory glance, this was a space that she knew her blue-eyed friend to posses on a regular basis and that somehow made everything a little more important. There was something folded over the back of the chair tucked into what she thought must have been Brittany's desk that struck her as familiar so she slowly uncurled her legs and switched off the television, throwing the room into a blissful sort of silence.

She moved closer on light footsteps and felt a smile tug up the corners of her mouth when she recognized her own jacket, her chest fluttering oddly when she pressed her nose into the dark material and it was Brittany's perfume that invaded her senses.

Curiosity peaked, she refolded the jacket over the back of the chair and took a seat at Brittany's desk; tracing over the red stenciling on the back of the dancer's laptop, knuckling the spines of the books she had lined along the small shelf, impressed despite herself at what she saw there. She recognized titles of whimsy; JM Barrie's original _Peter and Wendy_ and Lewis Carroll's _Through the Looking-Glass_ packed together with several other easily (and some not-so-easily) recognized tales of fantasy and science fiction and the well worn spines surprised her even as she thought that they shouldn't. Smiling still, she wiggling the funky pencil toppers sitting in the pen holder and glanced over the multitude of pictures tacked up on the back wall.

Her eyes flickered between glossy faces and stopping briefly on the ones she recognized- Mike and Tina and Matt. She hesitated over the images of three unknown girls that looked too much like her friend to be anyone other than Brittany's sisters, but the similarities went far beyond mere hair and eye color. She grinned at their captured antics and the palpable affection between them. She flicked her eyes and sucked in a breath, it was like a sucker punch to her gut to suddenly recognize another familiar face, appearing again and again and so centrally focused that Santana was amazed she hadn't noticed her sooner.

Quinn Fabray didn't smile so much as smirk and it was a trait she had apparently carried since childhood. With one corner of her lips turned up and golden green eyes hardened like ice it was almost like she was peering through the camera focus and into the very depths of your soul, and that she was left wholly unimpressed by what she saw there.

It wasn't her roommate's apparently innate sense of superiority that kept Santana's attention, however, _that_ she had gathered from their first encounter and was a sentiment reinforced every time they crossed paths. No, what she found herself drawn in by was that fact that even her Ice-Prom-Queen of a dormmate didn't seem to be exempt from the Brittany factor. Her Medusa-esque glare lost its fizzle and her gaze seemed to melt whenever it was directed at the taller girl, her whole self appearing to shift into something softer- something sadder and harder to reconcile with her normally fierce and unyielding features.

She realized that despite the fact that she only knew Brittany because of Quinn, that she had never actually seen the two of them together and perhaps because of that she had been able to disregard the fact that _her friend _Brittany was also _Quinn's girlfriend _Brittany. It was hard to ignore, however, when physical proof was staring her in the face. Pictures of the two of them smiling arm-in-arm in cheerleading uniforms and dancing in prom dresses and laughing in street clothes and bundled up in thick winter clothes holding snowboards.

Santana didn't want to know that. She didn't want to acknowledge that their history that spanned back _years_ or that they were so engrained into one another lives that Quinn went on family vacation. She didn't want to think that Brittany might see Quinn as a legitimate person with a heart and feelings and shit because Santana knew the truth even more now. Quinn was so much worse than just a shitty girlfriend, she was a shitty friend who was willing to disregard a solid friendship and the trust it incurred for some _bootycall_ girl she had met the first day of college.

Her stomach clenched in pain and a less hungover Santana, a less blindly indignant Santana, might think that it felt a lot like guilt because if Quinn was so awful to be _that_ kind of person, what did it say about her to have helped. But Santana was hungover and blindly indignant and a little shattered at the images she was looking at, so all she did was drop her hand from the wall and take a sip from her now lukewarm coffee.

Upset and not fully accountable as to why, she ached for a distraction and let her attention drift back to Brittany's collection of books. Santana found her eyes drawn to one spine that was so split and well worn that she had to pick it out of its place and turn it over in her hand to recognize the title. Santana bit the inside of her cheek and traced the pad of her thumb across the remaining indention of HG Wells' _The Time Machine_ on the cover, wondering what it was about this story that had drawn Brittany to it and made even the pages feel so well loved as she flicked through them.

She wondered if it was Brittany's favorite book and how many times it had been read and for the first time she was aware of Santana was truly, genuinely curious about another person's interests. She wanted to know how Brittany read that book or any book, she wanted to know what kind of music she listened to when she was happy or sad or angry. She knew Brittany danced ballet for school, but did she prefer that to the way she danced in clubs? She wanted to know what made the dancer tick and for every question that she thought of the more she was beginning to realize she wanted to know everything.

Her fingers twitched as a different set of questions filtered through her mind, too slick and fleeting to fully grasp onto but panic surged around her lungs, compounding with the too sweet caffeine seeping into the lining of her empty stomach and Quinn's glossy printed eyes staring judgment at her from the back wall.

"I hope you appreciate how fucked up this is," she sneered, immediately feeling the fool for berating a _photograph. _Santana took an absentminded sip of now cool coffee, wincing and grumbling as she pressed a hand to the edge of the desk to push herself back upright. Her fingers slid over a few scattered papers littered with random number and unintelligible notes and she stopped when the corner of another picture was exposed from underneath. Curious and more than a little apprehensive (Brittany wasn't exactly modesty and any pictures she might hesitate about pinning up could be a little more than Santana is willing to partake of) she pulled it free and froze.

It wasn't Quinn's face staring up but her own, smiling bright and looking _happy_. The sight shocked her if only because it wasn't an emotion she was used to seeing on her own face and the only thing she could think to associate it with was the other girl in the picture, the blonde that the captured image of herself was grinning so unabashedly at. Embracing the crazy, she thought.

Unbidden, she touched the tips of her fingers to the visage of the two of them and smiled as that feeling blossomed once more under her skin. It quelled her panic and soothed over the rough edges of her anger like Brittany had done time and again since the first time they spoke. Santana swallowed heavily and spared one more look to the door, an unfamiliar sense of concern making itself known over how long Brittany had been gone and could possibly be on her mind to keep her running all that time.

Still too sick and lacking any true desire to fully comprehend her own thoughts and feelings, Santana stood and made her way back to the bedroom portion of the dorm with her coffee and Brittany's book. Hoping that it might give her some insight into the girl and maybe even a little insight into the shifting she was starting to feel in her own self.

!

Running was something of a double edged blade for her anymore, giving her enough time and space to clear her head only so her every thought and doubt could push to the forefront and cloud it again. It was frustrating in a way that Brittany was slowly and unhappily becoming accustom to and if she lost the freedom in running that she once had in motocross (that her parents took from her) and dancing (that structure and school was draining from her) then she wasn't sure what she would use as a fall back.

"-_just think maybe something is going on with her._"

Brittany jerked her shoulder in surprise, nearly tripping over the threshold of the elevator and slipping out onto the floor. She had totally forgotten she was on the phone with her sister.

"Katie," she sighed, pinching the phone between her cheek and shoulder to free her hands so she could pat at her pockets and try to buy herself enough time to remember what they had just been talking about. They had started on Christmas and gift ideas for their parents but Kate's tendency for rapid shift in topics had taken hold and she'd gone too quickly for Brittany to follow. Mostly she'd spent the last ten minutes or so just humming in agreement.

"_I know you probably think I'm just reading too much into it or whatever-_" Brittany hummed again "_-but it's just weird, you know? Like, I called her yesterday and she was just really short with me - shut up-_" She slotted her key into the lock and rolled her eyes, Kate was more likely to draw attention to her small stature than anyone else. "-_I hate to think that she's dealing with something and not talking to anyone about it. You of all people know how bad things got last time she tried to hold it all inside._"

Not Aubrey then, Brittany thought, entering her dorm and glancing around at the empty common area. She bit her bottom lip, Tina's coat and purse was gone but she still closed the door softly and locked it behind her. "I don't think it was all that bad," she rolled the dice in a guess but gauging by the absurd way Katie scoffed over the line she was probably wrong.

"_Not _that _bad? Britty, come on!" _Not Jo Jo either, the dancer sighed, which left one other viable choice and exactly the last one she wanted to talk about with her sister. "_You came out of that whole ordeal with a concussion and four stitches and we got a permanent houseguest. I'm not saying anything about all that but if that doesn't constitute as _bad_ then I think you need to be recalibrated_."

"Oh," she dragged her hand over the back of her neck, tilting her head at the thin stream of light coming out from under her and Tina's bedroom door. "You're talking about Quinn," she pointed out needlessly, cracking open the door just enough to poke her head in. Dark, glittering eyes glanced up from a very familiar paperback book at her intrusion and narrowed at the quiet words she'd just spoken.

"_Of course I'm talking about Quinn. Who the hell did you think I was talking about?"_

Brittany dropped her jaw but she was finding it particularly difficult to breath at that exact moment because all she could see was Santana Lopez sitting up in her bed, wearing her favorite t-shirt and wrapped up in her comforter with William the goat tucked under one arm and her book in the other. She had never seen a sight so utterly heart-stopping before in her life and she could feel, _actually feel_, the ghost of a hand brushing over the contours of her stomach. Images flooded her consciousness, the same images from early that morning and she drew a ragged breath. What would Santana do if she just-

"_Brittany? Where are you, space case?"_

Brittany flinched. She'd forgotten again and despite the exhaustion she was feeling her heels itched to go out for another run. "Uhh," she drew out, pulling an amused quirk of an eyebrow from Santana who's magnet-like stare continued to draw her focus. "Katie, can I call you back? I need to go take a nap or a shower or… or something."

"_Um, yeah, I guess._" Katie's suspicion was palpable and Brittany cringed at the sound of it. _"I feel like this goes without saying, but if there was anything wrong- you would tell me, right? Like you know you can talk to me about anything yeah?"_

She pinched the bridge of her nose and hummed, "Yeah, K, I know."

"_Good, okay then. You call me later and we'll hash out this thing with Quinn, okay? Love you, B."_

Brittany returned the sentiment quietly before the phone beeped to let her know the call had been disconnected and exasperated, she leant back against the door and felt it click shut behind her. She dropped most of her weight to where her shoulders touched the light wood and tried to sort out her thoughts in the quiet, very nearly forgetting there was someone else in the room until there was a rustling from her bed. Santana was half out from under the covers with one foot on the floor and looking a fraction of a second away from standing, a crease of concern narrowing her eyes.

Brittany offered her a smile with the energy she could divert from the whirlwind inside her body, but even she could feel how weak it was painted across her lips.

"Everything okay?" Santana hushed into the quiet between them, falling back slightly into the bed. She had never seen Brittany quite the way she was right then, ruffled and winded from her run but with the almost overwhelming presence of tension coiled under her skin. Not without the safety net of a club or the excuse of a pounding beat to explain away the desire she felt to wrap her arms around the taller girl's lithe frame and hold on, that was.

"My family is insane," Brittany groused and Santana fought the smile that threatened to overtake her at just the sound of a pout in the dancer's voice. "My sister found out she was left out of the loop on something that happened almost two years ago and to make up for it she's determined to be involved in everything going on with everybody."

Santana did smile at that and made a noise of sympathy when her friend continued to slump against the door. "How was your run?" she asked, biting her tongue to stop herself from asking the _whys _and _ifs_ that she really wanted to know.

Brittany looked at her then, as if she were surprised at the question and for a moment Santana worried over that invisible line again. She continued to meet her stare though, somehow finding it darker and _more blue _than Santana had ever seen before. Something unknowable flickered there but before she could even think of a question to ask, Brittany was shaking her head and Santana used the reprieve to wet her lips.

"Not long enough," the dancer mumbled, dropping her phone onto the top of her dresser and tugging her ponytail tighter. There was a jittery hesitance to her movements, a sort of uncertainty that Santana would never had associated with the blonde if she wasn't looking straight at it. A light-headedness snuck up on Santana from some unnamable place deep, deep down (_a thought, a fear, a hope_) that maybe Brittany's bout of tension has something to do with her, with last night, with _them _but then she remembered the misstep Mike had mentioned the day before and she knew that whatever was bothering Brittany was probably so much more than her.

A need she had never felt before took hold- the need to offer comfort to someone else.

Trouble was, she wasn't exactly an expert in the area of what made _other people_ feel better because she couldn't really recall ever caring before. She bit the inside of her cheek and fluttered her fingers against the back cover of the book still in her hands. She watched her for a second longer and wanted to knock herself in the head when she realized that she was making it more difficult than it had to be. It was _Brittany_, for god's sake. She just needed to embrace the crazy.

"You want to come back to bed and forget everything that's happened today. Maybe just start the day over in an hour?" It might be a bit more literal than Tina had intended, but Santana thought that might be her favorite sort of follow through.

"Can I do that?" Brittany's face scrunched cutely. For a girl willing to hand out second chances at the drop of a hat, Santana thought it was odd that she never considered to extend the courtesy to herself.

Santana shrugged and drew her leg back into the bed, taking the time to rearrange herself to make room for the lanky girl to lay down beside her. Maybe later it would occur to her that she might have just _given_ Brittany back her own bed, sans cuddle partner, but at the moment all she could think about was getting her to lay down and relax. She started to grow a little self conscious when the dancer continued to stare from her spot at the foot of the bed. "What?" Santana asked, trying to keep a sort of levity in her voice to cover up the butterflies that had erupted in her stomach at the way Brittany watched her.

"I'm.." she curled her fingers around her thumbs and bounced on the ball of her feet, breaking out into movement to release some of the energy she felt crackling under her skin. "I'm all sweaty," Brittany settled on, quietly.

"So?" Santana patted the free space next to her and laughed, "It's not my bed."

"It's mine," she scrunched her eyebrows and frowned. She pointed to the object folded between Santana's hands just as something to do, "And that's my book."

Santana nodded, wetting her lips as she glanced down to where her thumb held her place in the short novel. "Yeah, it is. That a problem?"

"No," Brittany blinked, shaking her head once sharply. She felt small pieces of herself sliding around and clicking into place at just the sight. Santana Lopez was sitting in her bed, wearing her clothes, and surrounded by her things. "Not at all."

"Well, come on then," she rolled her dark eyes upward but Brittany could just make out the way her cheeks darkened in a blush. "I'm not going to wait all day, you know?"

There was a war going on inside of Brittany's head, fierce and epic if the way her eyes flickered too quickly and her fingers fluttered against her thighs were any indication. But as intense as it appeared, it was also over quickly and before she could blink Brittany was toeing off her running shoes and pulling off her thick, red hoodie by the back in one practiced movement. If she at all noticed the way Santana sat up straighter, transfixed by the way the shirt she was wearing rode up slightly and clung to the well defined muscles of her abdomen then she had tact enough not to mention it. Instead, she tugged the shirt back into place, pulled off her socks and slid into the bed, not stopping until she was low enough to press her face into Santana's stomach and hug herself against the smaller girl's trim hips. Under her Santana froze, stiffening as Brittany's exercise elevated heat melted into her, spiking her own temperature to dangerous levels and setting her aflame.

"You know," she cleared her throat, attributing her suddenly dry mouth to unfamiliar proximity, but found her train of thought derailed. Then she felt Brittany's hold loosen without letting go as the feeling of peace she had been seeking finally sunk in, letting her relax fully into the bed and body underneath her. Amazed at the way the tension just seemed to melt away - visible in he blonde's shoulders and back - Santana found her own self falling back into a peaceful sort of calm. She took a breath, fascinated by the way Brittany's blonde head lifted and fell with the motion. Santana smiled, her chest loosened as her stomach unclenched and then she could breath more easily. Her hand dropped to the top of Brittany's head, gently dragging her fingers through downy soft locks and tucking errant strands behind the shell of the taller girl's ear. Brittany sighed, sinking further as Santana brushed her thumb against the two helix piercing she felt there. After a minute or two she felt Brittany hum to prompt her when she failed to continue what she had started to say, the vibration of it tickling Santana's stomach and coiling deliciously inside of her. But Santana had completely forgotten.

"You know, um, this was the second time I've woken up to an empty bed because of you," she teased with the first thing that came to mind, but even as she said it she couldn't imagine either one of those times could amount to this one. She held her breath when she felt Brittany do the same, but then the dancer was snickering into Santana's side and turning her face just enough to mutter an apology to the open air. Santana grinned full stop, "I'm just saying, if you keep that up you're going to give me a complex."

"Won't happen again, promise," Brittany assured somberly, raising her free hand to make a cross in the air even as her shoulders shook in laughter.

"Good," she tugged at the blonde's earlobe and raised the book back up to eye level, letting Brittany relax back into sleep for a little while. "I'm glad that's settled."

* * *

><p><em>Thoughts? <em>

Bet you all thought that Santana was going to be the one to freak out, huh?


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